Not to Follow
by Aria of Life
Summary: Cassidy O'Callaghan has lived in fear of her father all her life. But when tragedy strikes her town, she flees her country and winds up in the famous Opera Garnier. What at first seems like only a perfect hiding spot turns into something much more when she meets the infamous Opera Ghost. But Cass must overcome her demons and the truths about herself, all while hiding as a fugitive.
1. Prolouge

Erik wasn't sure if he was alive or dead.

It was a question he asked himself often. It had been three years since Christine had left him, and he found himself simply going through the motions of everyday life. Never had he thought that love could leave such a heartache!

He walked, composed, and occasionally ate and slept like a living man would do, but his mind was dull. He had no motivation.

He didn't even have his cat anymore!

The Opera Ghost had disappeared for more then a year, and Erik only retook his old pastime to try and keep the memories at bay.

The old Erik would have laughed to see the managers' faces when they read his note. Andre and Firman were still at his Opera house-they were being paid heavily by the Paris government to stay. And when the Opera Ghost had disappeared, it had only taken them a few months to regain the cockiness and idiocy they had possessed before. He didn't' laugh, however. Tormenting two numbskulls no longer seemed amusing to him. He needed the money, and the distraction. But he had no real interest in staying alive.

He had thought he was dead, back then. He had been in a deep sleep for a week, coming to sore, sticky with blood, but alive.

_Why?_ He often thought. _Can't the Universe grant me this one mercy? _

But all the events had taught Erik to be wary of fate. He had a suspicion something was coming-he was desperate for a change. All he needed was a spark...some inspiration...something to live for.

Erik was used to looking for inspiration. A shepherd's model, his many talents, the way people practically begged for death by speaking ill of him...a young chorus girl. He tried telling himself that nothing could surprise him anymore. But even as he threatened the managers, frightened ballerinas, and composed works of genius, he didn't realize that inspiration, his spark, was coming.

Just not in the form he expected.


	2. Chapter 2: Sparks

Chapter One: Sparks.

Cass's POV

I was walking down the street with my Father when the bombs went off.

We had been on our way to the police station. A new deputy had let a pickpocket loose, an' Da wanted a few words with him.

Da didn't tolerate slackers. I hated him. He is Satan in the disguise of a drunken Irish police chief. He ran his town and my life with an iron fist- both figuratively and literally- well, literally for me, anyways. He has never said a kind word to me in my life, and I had been planning to run away. All I needed was an opportunity.

Nothing really held me back, except fear of getting caught. Only two people besides Da know of my existence. One is the pesky, nosy neighbor, Ms. Dambudzo. She was an African who couldn't stay out of other's business.

The other…

I was distracted as another bomb went off. A man tripped me, and the bomb men came running out of the clothing shop.

The attackers weren't hard to find- there were around 17 masked men running away as the dress shop exploded as well. Sirens wailed and people screamed as the police both tried to protect the civilians and catch the attackers.

I ducked into an alleyway, trying to avoid the mob of screaming Irishmen, watching for my Da.

I was confused, scared too. There were so many people! Sparks popped around me, and one burnt my arm. I hissed and slapped at it. Glass was lying all over the sidewalk, and smoke was filling the air.

The fire had spread to the other stores, and now the whole street was ablaze. A crazy thought shot through my mind. There would be burned corpses, no doubt about that. What if I ran now? Da might think that I had just gotten in the way of the fire. And the fire would keep him busy.

I hesitated, and then started running for the docks.

I bolted across the square, keeping my head down. I paused only a moment to swipe a dead man's wallet. He was lying face down, his arms burned horrifically from the fire. I stumbled as a beam fell from above… the clock tower was falling! I felt a sting and watched in horror as my arms were burned. I slapped at the flames and felt another spark hit my head. I ran down Evening Lane, darting and shoving around masses of people. Then I heard a cry.

"Help me! 'elp! I've gotta to get to her! HELP!" I turned and saw and old man stuck underneath a burning beam. His wife was further back. Common sense told me, _there are 'undreds here! They'll help 'em! _I had left others to burn, ignored their cries. But I found myself darting under the beam and yanking out the old man.

"My wife, Miss. 'elp her! Adelaide!" he started to try and crawl back under. I grabbed his shirt.

I reached under and pulled his wife loose.

"Oh, Charles," she panted, "so… hot… uner there!" she turned to me.

"Now, take my advice and run as fast as you can." I say.

"Thanks, Miss!" they called, but I was already racing out of town and up Alay's hill. When I got to the top, I turned and looked at my city. A good portion was up in smoke. I could hear screams echoing from below.

The tall grasses swished and swayed in the soft autumn breeze. I heard the faint sound of violins going from a G to an F in one soft movement. It betrayed the horror that was happening back in town.

I went down the hill and raced towards the docks. Large ships were docked, and uniformed men ran around. A large crowd was gathered, all staring at the plume of smoke coming from Dublin.

I moved silently passed them and picked a ship at random. It didn't matter where I went, as long as it wasn't here.

The ticket man didn' even blink when I handed him the money. He just nodded and pointed me in the right direction.

The ship was fair sized. It was painted blue with the name _Voyager _on the side. Ladies in frilly dresses and men with suits milled about on deck.

I felt so out of place. I looked over the deck, trying to see if a tall blond was looking for me.

You couldn't see the city from here.

"Dublin," A lady near me says to her friend. I tense up. I don't like females- then again, I don't like many people. Men are normally so thick, though. They will ask one question to avoid getting fired, and then leave you alone. Women, however… they had so much _curiosity_, and the fact that I was a child didn't help matters. Men almost never asked me questions.

"Such a beautiful city. An area of 318 square kilometers, according to my husband. And a population of 2,493!" the lady was English, going by her accent. I smiled. Their accents were funny, having been around Irish slang my whole life.

"Truly, I believe this will make a stunning holiday," her friend replies with the same dreamy air.

I lean back in my little corner. Holiday, eh? Wonder how they will react to finding Dublin ain't accepting visitors today.

As if summoned by my thoughts, an old man with a captain's hat comes out of the cabin and asks for our attention.

"Unfortunately, ladies and gents, port authorities say we can't stop here. Some big attack, up in the city. So we're headed back to England, folks. Real sorry." The crowd murmurs in protest, and I ignore the twinge in my stomach as the people file off the deck.

_I gots me a ticket! I belong! _I feel like yelling to every passerby.

When the deck is clear, I make my way over to a tall pole with a rope on it. The rope acts like a ladder, leading up to a small lookout. I barley hesitate a second before scampering up, working my small arms as best I can. When I get to the top, I scan the waves, smiling as I see dolphins race along the sides. I look back as Ireland fades into a small blur on the horizon. For a moment a wild panic seizes me. What on Earth am I thinking! I have never left Dublin, hardly left the _apartment_, and here I was, leaving Ireland for a place called England. Was I insane?

And then another thought hit me.

_Alessandra!_

She is the only person I could consider a friend. So naturally, Da don't know 'bout her.

I honestly don't know what to make 'o her. She is 25 years old and frightened to death of everything. She is even scared of me, and don't get her started on my father. But in spite of this, she tries to help me as she can, mainly sneaking me food when I am allowed out. I just wish she could find the courage to tell her father about my father. She wouldn't even give me a reason why not.

Was she okay? I hadn't seen her in a week, and that was just a glance outside my window. She left her usual basket of food for me, with one note:

_Sorry for the delay._

And the last time I had seen her in person… we'd had a fight!

She'd snuck up on me while I was out on the balcony. She hated my side of town, and I was moody because I couldn't think of how to escape.

"You all right, Cass? Ya seem off… did he hit you again?" she fussed.

I looked at her. "When doesn't he, Alessandra?" I asked sarcastically. "No, it's something else…" I trailed off, chewing my bottom lip, as was my nervous habit.

"Wat's wrong, Lass?" she asks, confused, and ignoring my sarcasm. Or not understandin' it.

I stared at the ground. It wasn't that I didn't want to tell Alessandra what was wrong. It was just so large a secret!

"Yer running off, aren't you? Yous gonna do it!"

My silence had confirmed it. "He's gonna catch you! Lass, that man is dangerous! You ain't gonna escape from him! Try'n be content here…"

I felt my temper rise, like lava in my veins. I marched forward until I was right up in her face- never mind she was three feet taller than me.

"You think I don't know that, Alessandra? I know I'll never be able to settle- he'll always be huntin' me. And be content here? Alessandra, you're the only thing keeping me sane. But please, I can't live like this anymore! I can't handle being struck all the time, never knowing when I'm safe. I can't take it. I'm leaving."

I was so infuriated, I couldn't even think straight. Yes, the sooner I got out of here, the better.

Alessandra looked at me sadly, and for a moment I regreted yelling at her. "No, you run. I swear I won't tell a soul. J- Just be careful, 'k?" she swallowed and sniffed. "Do you need any help?" I shook my head.

Without warning she let out a wail and threw her arms around me. I instantly stiffened, but awkwardly patted her back.

She straightened up and rubbed her eyes.

"Bye, Cass." she said, running away.

It all came back to me. Stupid, stupid! Every taunting thought, rude remark, and cold shoulder I had given her came back to me.

My escape was _not _off to the greatest start.

I take some deep breaths and listen to the wind and sea making their ways around the scale. I close my eyes, grateful to listen, until-

"Hey you!" I snap my eyes open, annoyed, and look over the side to see a sailor wearing blue and white stripes waving up at me. He's yelling at me in a strange language, and after a moment I realize it's English. "You with the red hair!"

"Yea?" I call down, the word feeling alien.

"What in the name of Nike are ya doin' up there, kid? Wind's a-comin' real strong, and yer up on the crow's nest, smack in the middle of it!"

The crow's nest? Oh, that must be what this part of the ship is called.

"I don't feel no wind!" I call, ignoring the suddenly obvious wind whipping my hair around my face.

The sailor sighs and climbs the rope before joining me. I tense up and lean away from the man. He ruffles his blond hair and replaces his hat.

"So, you're a local. Welcome aboard the_ Voyager_!" he offers out his hand, which I stare coldly at before grudgingly holding out my own. I've only shaken hands a few times before.

"How'd ye know I was a local?" I ask suspiciously. I don't want to be traced back to Ireland.

"Well, your talk fer one. Two, all we gots on this ship is English and French ladies, all pale with nice brown and blond hair in buns. Some men too, but I reckon you're not one of them. I've memorized their names. And I can tell you, while you do match them in the skin department," he looks at my pale skin, "we don't have any gals with red hair aboard." He winks. "You aren't a stowaway, are ya Red?"

"No." I snap, annoyed that my hair is being made fun of. "I bought my ticket fair and square." I narrow my green eyes. "Not all Irish get drunk and sneak around stealing things."

He laughs. "Ah, feisty! Nice to make your acquaintance, Red. I'm Steve Saxon. Mind coming down? The winds gettin' to me." He slides down the ropes and I reluctantly follow.

* * *

So here's Cass! I hope you guys like her...I know I do.

Just to be clear, she's a kid, around 12 or 13.

Please drop me a review!


	3. Chapter 3: Sailors and Paris

Hey guys, here I am again! Thanks for all the kind reviews. I love hearing from you!

Erik will appear in the next two chapters. Don't worry, he's coming!

Answers to Reviews:

**Doc McFly: (love the name, by the way.) Aw, thanks! And you'll find out soon...**

**grandma paula: I'm glad you like her. She is around 12 or 13, something I forgot to put into the story itself. And no, Cass and Erik won't have any romance. **

**DectectiveOfTheOpera:** **Thanks for the encouragement, I'm glad you're loving the story!**

**TierneyMacDonald: Thanks! I'm exited to write it...**

**Disclaimer: If I did, indeed, own Phantom, I would take Love Never Dies right off the market. *shudders* However, as I do not, (own Phantom) it's still here.**

* * *

Red and the Sailors

I follow Steve through some winding passages, unsure of the reason why. We enter a small room with a large group of sailors playing cards.

"Hey, fellers! I found a friend!" Steve calls. A group of about 10 sailors swarm around, laughing and knocking Steve on the head. I feel a touch of panic rising in me. I have never done well with crowds.

"Where'd ya find this one, Steve?" says a sailor. Despite his buff appearance, he has a soft voice and has the same look on her face that Alessandra gets when she sees a new bruise on me. "Didn't disrupt her or nothin' did ya?"

"She's awful tiny! Sure ya didn't capture no fairy?"

"Aye, Steve knows these are the only women he'll ever get!" this gets lots of laughs.

"So lassie, you come to join us for a few drinks, eh?"

"Perhaps she'll bring us luck on the card table!"

"Nay, I think not" I say.

"She is Irish! Ain't ye? 'Ey, what 'appened up there in Dublin?" the sailors take a breath and turn towards me.

"I hardly know anythin', jus' what I've heard others say" I swallow and try to back away, plastering a fake smile on my face. Suddenly a soft hand takes my shoulder and pulls me from the crowd.

"Leave the child alone." A soft, almost feminine voice says. "If she is from Dublin, then that is her hometown. We all saw the smoke. Don't force a child to tell you what you can guess for yourself."

The sailors mumble apologies. "Sorry lassie, didn't mean to…ah, I just hate not knowin' stuff!" Steve says. The others nod, and then file out. The others look at me apologetically again as they go. I decide to shrug it off, knowing I would have done the same. I turn and look at the sailor behind me.

He also has blond hair and blue eyes, with a slight blond mustache. He had a complexion that reminded me off a girl, with almost a dreamy air about him.

Same as the ladies up top, I think. Is he from the same place?

No, his accent is different. What is it…?

"Sorry about them." The man apologizes. "The boys do love a good story and sometimes get carried away in getting more information."

"No harm done." I stare at the man.

"I am Comte Raoul De Changey." He says this with an aura of pride.

I have no idea who or what a _Comte _is, but I nod and smile as though I do.

"Where are you headed?" De Changey asks.

I shrug, attempting to be vague. "I'm headed towards England, then onto…" I search my brain for a destination, and then Raoul's accent finally comes to me! "… France."

Raoul's face lights up. "Excellent! Whereabouts?" I grit my teeth, this man is incredibly nosy!

"I'm not quite sure me self." I say politely.

"Well, if you ever happen to go to Luxemburg, just ask for Changey and wife. My angel and I would love to see you!"

"Wife?" I say. What's he doing here if he has a wife?

His eyes cloud over and he gets a dreamy look on his face. "Oh, yes. I..," he leans down and motions me closer, "…have married an angel. Her name is Christine and she is God's gift to me. I would gladly give away all my worldly possessions to see her again, or to be with her once more. I love her more than I can say."

I am no expert on matters of the heart, but I can tell he loves his _Christine_ as much as he says.

"Sadly, my Little Lottie remains in Luxemburg. But I will see her soon!" he finishes dramatically.

I'm starting to wonder how to escape this lovesick puppy when the buff sailor comes in.

"Sorry to intrude, Monsieur," he stumbles across the strange word, "but this young lady's mother is calling her. Come along, Miss." He beckons me over, while I remain rooted to the spot. What crude joke was that supposed to be? I squeeze my eyes shut against the images that threaten to overwhelm me, and then open them to see the buff sailor jerking his head at me. With Raoul staring, I quickly move after the buff sailor and follow him through the door.

"Ya handled that all right, kid. The Comte goes on and on about that angelic wife of his if you give him half the chance. Five years they've been married and he still loves her to death. Kinda sweet." He notices my silence. "Hey, if I insulted you or something, sorry. I had to think of a lie to get you out quick."

I nod tightly to show I heard.

Steve opens a door to my right, almost hitting the buff sailor. "Sorry Chuck! Oh good, ya got Red. Gotta spot for ya, kid. All the rooms are full of those rich people." He motions to a large pile of sacks.

My throat closes up. Nobody has ever hunted me out and provided me with a place to sleep. I decide then and there that these sailors are decent folk.

"Wow… thank you." I whisper.

"Nothin' to it, Red. Jus' don't get stuck talking to the rich people anymore. They go on and on about themselves then look at you like yer dirt."

"Cruel! The Comet's alright, once he shuts up 'bout that wife 'o his. Anyway, get s'm rest, you lot." Another sailor calls.

"Night, Red." Steve calls. The crew says the same.

"Oíche" I whisper.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I stand at the edge of Paris in the darkness, drenched in mud in the pouring rain. So far, France is _not_ in my good graces.

When the sailors, (who called themselves the Green River Boys) found out that I had no idea where to go after England, they immediately made suggestions.

"All depends on what ya want, Lass." Chuck said. "Central Europe gots everythin' ya could want. So, what do you want?"

I thought of Da. "Someplace to hide out. Lay low."

Chuck eyed me. "Runnin' off, Red?'

"Aye." I nod.

Andy, another River Boy, said then, "You'll want a big city, then. A place where unless you're somebody, yer nobody." A strange glint had entered his eye. "Fancy the arts, Red?"

I felt confused. "Arts?"

"Dancing, singing, music-"

"Yes!" I had cut in.

"Go to Paris. The City of lights and arts. It's a beautiful place, ya gotta love it."

So I had gotten my ticket and bid farewell to the Green River Boys. I had felt almost hopeful, I had gotten this far!

My mood changed _very_ quickly.

First, I got off at the wrong port. I was supposed to get off at the Bay of Bordeaux, but instead got off at a place called Nantes. All cabbies had sped away when I whistled, so I was walking to Paris. Luckily the road was deserted, though my feet ached. Not three hours into my trudge it started to rain. It was an autumn thunderstorm, complete with thunder and lightning. And the temperature had dropped, leaving me shivering. Some carriages passed me; noses turned up, with barely a glance in my direction, the horses splattering mud and manure all over me.

It continued to rain the next two days, and wind speeds picked up too. More than once I went flying off the road and landing in… more mud.

_Luck of the Irish, my foot. _

But _finally,_ here I was.

For its credit, Paris seemed gorgeous. I could see why Andy had called it the 'city of lights'- soft candles glowed from every window, making the city shine with a strange soft light that felt warm and welcoming. The cobblestone streets clicked beneath my worn boots, (swiped back in Dublin,) and my head felt light with a sort of happiness, despite the dark, stormy night.

I did get some odd looks from some upper class men. I knew I must look horrid, with my matted hair and torn clothing. My trousers were now ripped into shreds below my knees! The fog was cold and settled into my bones. Then I rounded a corner and gasped, forgettin' everything.

I come from a small town. The buildings are tiny and close together. And in front of me was…. A giant! A castle! A kingdom! Golden steps led to large gold doors. Columns held up the empire itself, and I could see many tiny windows with lights coming out of them. I craned my neck to see that there were three tiny domes, each with a miniature roof. These domes supported the main roof. At the edge there was a cluster of blue statues. All I could make out in the rain was a bright gold instrument. What was it called… a lyre! An empire with an instrument on top! I walked in a daze up to the doors to see them many different colors, with lion knockers.

I press myself against the door and strain with all my might. My wet feet slide out from underneath me and I fall on my face. Getting up again, I take a running start and hurl myself towards the doors. This time, with a squeal, the doors open. The foyer is dark, and I hold my breath. I close the doors behind me, shutting out the night. It takes a moment, but my eyes adjust to the darkness.

A grand staircase was directly in front of me. To my left there were hallways, and I decided to follow, keeping to the wall. A small set of doors sat in front, and when I pushed them open, I almost ran into a rope dangling from the ceiling. I make my way through the dark, stumbling over the strangest things. A wig, couch, quill, and even fake food block my path. Then huge, red, velvet curtains smash into my face. When I push them away I see a clear, open area. I walk out and feel my jaw drop in astonishment.

Hundreds of seats stretch out before me. The floor slants up, filling all available floor space. Boxes with velvet curtains line the wall, with small hallways behind them. There is an orchestra pit filled with sheet music and instrument cases, and I resist the urge to go check the music out. There are six levels filled with seats. The place is enormous, and I have never felt smaller.

The ceiling is round and there is an area to stand level with the enormous chandelier. I have never seen anything grander then this place! The chandelier has three metal rings with dozens upon dozens of tiny, white, sparkling pieces of rock. I whistle in approval. The sound echoes around the mighty room.

I notice that there is art painted on the ceiling, but it's too high up for me to see properly. A grin centers itself on my face. Why don't I go up and see?

I am reluctant to leave this stage, this strange rush of power. But I do, heading for the stairs I saw backstage. I am in some theater, I've heard of the things, though never seen one, o' course. When I find the metal stairs, I climb up, trying to deaden the sound of my footsteps. When I reach the metal balcony overlooking the seats, I swallow. I have never been as high as this, but it's not high enough. I want to be sure I can see anybody coming. I eye the chandelier. Hmmm…

I steady myself on the railing and try not to think about what happens if I miss.

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**Erik will pop up in the next chapter! As always, please don't forget to leave a review so that I know how you feel about this. **

**Have a good day! **


	4. Chapter 4: The Rafters

**Hello Everybody! I'm very tired and not ready for tomorrow, so can I have some nice reviews to cheer me up?**

**Answers to reviewers: **

**Tierney MacDonald: Aww, thanks! It's hard making a likable OC...and I'll tell you that her role will be an unusual one. **

**DetectiveOfTheOpera: I'm glad you liked Raoul! He's the biggest cutie pants and I love him so much. Don't worry! I won't kill her off in the second chapter...she's got some mayhem to cause first. As for the chandelier...**

**Thanks for the correction, by the way. I went back and it should be fixed. **

**Disclaimer: *thinks of something creative to say* **

**I...I just don't own it. Sorry. **

* * *

The rafters

I launch myself off the railing and grip the chandelier. It swigs perilously, and I bang my head against the railing as the chandelier swings.

"Go _hifreann leat!"_ I swear, pulling myself up.

When I reach the ropes holding the chandelier up, the whole thing becomes ridiculously simple. I shinny up and through a small hole, which leads to level ground. Now there are rafters everywhere. I notice four wooden planks above me. I grip one and pull myself over. Suddenly I'm sliding on my stomach into a small room. I get up and look around.

There are dozens of boxes and old blankets. Set pieces and props cover the floor. There are also costumes and wigs and old trunks filled with no doubt more treasures. Everything is covered in about five inches of dust. I sneeze and see a small, round window. The hinges squeal as I open it and look out. My head swims from the sight.

Paris stretches below me, the streets bathed in the candlelight. The night is inky black with only little pinpricks of light showing through. I look back into the room, smiling. A little cleaning and this place will be livable. And judging by the dust, I won't be disturbed!

But right now I am so exhausted I just grab a dusty sheet and plop down, falling asleep as soon as my head hits the floor.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When the morning light filters through the streaked window, I sit up and panic, forgetting where I am. I keep expecting to hear Father yelling at me that he has been up and why am I not. But nothing comes, except the memory of last night.

I blow my hair out of my face and look down at myself. The mud hardened from last night, and these clothes are peeling at the edges. I make my way over to the costumes trunks, opening them up and shooing away the spiders. I use a wool rag to scrub the dried mud off of me, and then change into a light green cotton shirt. I also find some black trousers, just my size! I hop over the wooden slide and shinny down the chandelier rope. When I am safely on the railing, I glance at the stage and almost have a heart attack.

The stage is filled with people, calling out distant greeting and getting things from backstage. Musicians walk in, carrying some sheet music and heading towards the pit. Everybody goes quiet as a short man with a bowler hat and a black tailcoat walks in. I frown, wanting to get a closer look. I go through the small door to my right and approach the rafters. I dart into the shadows as a fat man scuttles by me, holding ropes and yelling to his workmates.

I run soundlessly to a catwalk above the stage that seems unoccupied. I cross my legs and look over the edge.

People are singing in all different languages, in elaborate costumes that create a rainbow upon the stage. A team of snowy white horses are led onto the stage. I have only seen dirty mules, so these beauties are almost too much.

"And from the top!" the man wearing a bowler hat calls-in English, thankfully. The people hurry into position. A moment of silence takes place and then… music. Music blares from the instruments in the pits and from the chorus on stage. A sort of electric energy shoots through me, and I dimly reach up and feel my head to make sure my hair isn't standing on end. The man in the bowler hat waves his hands, commanding the music and singers. I dimly decide I want that job.

I don't recognize the language, so I don't understand the words, but the beauty and talent shine clear. The voices are clear and strong and they ring through the whole room. The instruments' sound swells and my ears ring with the sound. I sit half in a daze, smiling for the first time in days.

The spell of the music was broken by the doors of the auditorium being flung open, clanging the walls. The music stopped and I heard some of the company give collective groans when they saw who it was.

It was a tall man with brown curls atop his head. He had blue eyes and white skin. He was wearing a fancy black suit, with gold balls on the - what were they called? Oh yes-_ lapels_.

I remember Da wore a fancy suit one for a meeting. He came home and threw it in the garbage. He looked at me-frozen on my stool- for a long moment and said, "If you isn't a propa member 'o society, don't try n' pretend to be 'em. They treat you like garbage."

The man had a demanding presence about him. Right now, his dark moustache twitched as his beady eyes surveyed the stage.

"It appears that everybody is rehearsing," he said in a loud voice. "Why is that?"

The man in the bowler hat lowers his arms and yells, "Chorus rest!" Then he turns to the intruder.

"Well, Monsieur Gabriel, it could not be because we are hosting a performance in a week's time, and nobody is ready, due to the fact that you'd rather soak in the tub then teach chorus."

"Amen!" somebody yelled.

_Monsieur _Gabriel- that strange word they called Raoul! - sniffs the air disapprovingly.

"My personal habits remain my own. Perhaps if this company would stop being lazy and learn their parts, I would try a bit harder."

My jaw dropped along with the company's, them shouting indignantly. The company was very good, not worth this man! I noticed a large sack hanging near Gabriel's head. I wonder….

Monsieur Gabriel was now attacking the bowler hat man. "Monsieur Reyer, I continue to misunderstand why the managers keep you around. You disrespect me and obey the Phantom! Well, I tell you-"

His words were cut short by not one but two bags falling. One nailed him right in the head, the other just hitting the stage… but it wasn't me.

I didn't drop them!

As the company screamed below, I desperately looked for a place to hide. Somebody was up here with me! They could be watching me now… I dove behind some boxes with my back pressed against the metal railings of the catwalk. What if somebody looked up and saw me? I realized then exactly how bad of a position I was in.

Then I saw what had done the damage. It was simply a large black shadow. It seemed to flow to the ground, and I realized it was a cloak, a black one. The figure wore a soft felt hat on its head and I saw a white mask on its face. Yellow eyes glared down at the stage as he tossed a white envelope down with a hand that resembled skeleton's.

I listened to the cries on stage. They had seen the envelope.

"The Phantom! The Phantom of the Opera! He's here!" girls only looking a few years older than myself screeched. Monsieur Reyer put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. It had no effect. Finally an old woman in black came forward and slammed her black walking stick to the ground.

The room became so silent I could hear my breathing.

I had been so busy watching the stage; I forgot to watch the shadow.

And now it was gone!


	5. Chapter 5: Plans

**Hey, guys! **

**I know this is a bit of a short chapter, but the rest will be up later this week. For some reason, the rest of the document won't submit...hmm. **

**Doc McFly: Nope! French is not something she's learnt, but she'll be okay! **

**DectectiveOfTheOpera: Thank you so much! Reviews really keep me going, and I'm so glad you like it. **

**On with it! **

**Back in Dublin...**

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I spun around, looking for the shadow. I couldn't risk getting caught! Already footsteps where pounding up the stairway.

A large man with a torn apron and a grubby beard came first. "Well, isn't this great," he grumbles. "That fool ghost is gonna cost us our jobs one o' these days!"

His companion, a shorter man with a red beard, mumbles something in a different language, the same one they were using on stage. The first laughs.

"'At's the spirit, John. We'll get 'im one day."

I help my breath until I was certain they were gone. What kind of madhouse had I landed myself in? Phantoms, rude men, ladies with ridiculous make-up…and grand music.

The company too, cleared the stage. I silently slipped down, keeping to the shadows.

I made my way through the halls, hiding every time I heard voices. At long last, I reached a window.

I must still be up a few stories, and the streets! They were simply _crawlin'_ with people!

And not just any people. Mainly men and women in fancy dresses or suits, with some of the ladies holding up umbrellas. I checked the sky, but it was cloudless, with the sun shining.

_About time too,_ I thought.

But the obviously rich weren't the only ones. I also saw little scraps of skin clinging to the walls and hiding in the shadows. Looking a little closer, and I'd see hair and feet.

I felt almost guilty-here I am in such a grand hiding place, and they are on the streets. I felt sad, too. Clearly, Ireland isn't the only place where street urchins are plentiful. It was nice, holdin' out some sorta hope there was a place where everybody was well off.

I frowned. This place- _palace, more like,_-was a good hiding spot. Very big-lookin' on the outside, and so there's bound to be some unused spots 'round here-like my little attic. So…

Then it hits me. What if they are hiding here, and just hiding better than I am? I grab my hair in frustration. What an idiot I am! My first day out and I'm not even hidin' properly!

But I don't want to hang around in some dusty attic all day. An' besides, I've gotta find more unused spots if my attic is...discovered.

I'll just be extra cautious.

…

_Back in Ireland…_

The chief of police rubbed his eyes. He was worn out, there was no denying it.

"Sir?" his deputy asked warily.

"I need a drink," he moaned. Then he raised his eyes to the deputies. "What do you want, _gan mhaith_?" He jeered.

The deputy ignored the nickname and announced, "The ports have been closed, sir. There were a good number of ships waiting to land, but we got to them."

"Good," the chief said, rising. "We can't have those…aliens…in our country after we've just been attacked." _And we can't have any natives escaping,_ he thought.

"However…quite a few ships did dock, sir, and accepted passengers."

The effect was instant. The chief spun around, grabbed the deputy by his collar, and hoisted him into the air, pulling him close to his face.

"What?" he hissed.

The deputy was terrified. This was what he had been dreading. How could he tell the chief that thirty Irishmen made it onto the boats?

He was spared, though.

A young woman rapped on the door, and the chief, after giving his deputy a warning look, called, "Come in!"

She was shaking head to toe, and wouldn't look either policeman in the eye.

"Pardon… I was just wondering if a body was found…dead or alive…" she asked, her voice shaking on every word.

The deputy shook off the chief's grasp and got the woman a chair. The chief rubbed his face.

"_Caill,_ we have not found everybody yet. If you could wait a day or-"

"She's just a child!" the women cried, then shrank back into her chair.

_Bomanta! _How stupid he was! Where was his own…ward?

"Can you describe her, _caill_?" he asked.

She raised shaky brown eyes to meet his blue ones. "She is small…quite small…with red hair and green eyes, though that's typical." She added quickly.

He frowned, his mouth set. That description… "What name does she answer too?" he asked.

The woman wrung her hands. She was still trembling. Finally, she answered meekly, "Cass. Just Cass."

He breathed a sigh of release. It wasn't _her…_unless the woman was lying. He narrowed his eyes.

"Why are you so nervous?" he asked harshly.

"My…sister…is missing and my town has been destroyed. I think I have a right to be a little nervous!" she said sharply, then shrank into her chair again.

"We'll keep an eye out, _caill,_ I promise." He smiled, all charm once more. "And if you see her…" he handed her his mail box number, "let us know."

"_Go raibh maith agat,_ sir. I will." She smiled and left, breathing a sigh of relief.

The deputy was flabbergasted. "Sir! That's your private number! You never give it out!"

The chief turned and raised a warning finger to his deputy. "I have a hunch. And this discussion…" he took a step and poked the man in the chest, "…stays in this room. Are we clear, _gan mhaith_?" he asked.

The man nodded. "Crystal, sir."

The chief's eyes widened. He ran swearing out of the room, and caught up to the woman, who screamed as he grabbed her arm.

"Oh, Sir, it was only you… _buartha,_ my apologies."

"No harm done. I only wished to get your name."

Seeing the woman's panicked expression, his suspicions were confirmed and he hastily added, "For the files only, _caill._"

The woman hesitated, and then spoke.

"My name, sir... is Alessandra."

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**Ok, like I said, the rest will be out later this week. **

**In the meantime, leave me some nice reviews, ok?**

**Cookies for all! **

**-Aria**


	6. Chapter 6: The Meeting

**Hi guys! Thanks so much for your patience and the EPIC reviews on ****_In the Tomb. _**

**DetectiveoftheOpera: You may buy an Erik at the corner of depressed and homicidal. I think you may regret your purchase, though. Other customers report having their cats and sopranos stolen... and thanks so much for the kind review! **

**Allycat: Here's your update! And yes, the pictures are how I imagine Cass! I'll put the links at the bottom of the chapter. **

**Here you go- Cass and Erik meeting up! This ought to be interesting... **

**I hope you guys liked that! Cass and Erik are going to have some serious issues together...**

**Update days for ****_Not to Follow _****are MONDAYS. PM me if I hide back in my hole.**

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I blew my sweaty hair out of my face with a moan of frustration. There were so many people in this place! I thought the people on the stage were e'rybody, but no- there were maids, (for what? Who did they serve?) Girls with frilly skirts, old men carrying enormous set pieces, a strange man with dark skin and a funny hat, an' I'd even stumbled upon what I'd thought was an abandoned room, before a group of ancient folks turned their wrinkled heads to me.

I'd run out, though I would be impressed if they could get anybody to follow me, in their state.

Now I was crouched behind some enormous plant, (why would anybody need this?) trying to get my breathing under control, and completely lost.

I heard a group of girls come around the corner. I was fairly sure I was hidden, but still pressed up against the wall and tucked my knees in.

What I was not expecting for the wall to slide aside, an' I toppled in.

The wall slid shut… and I was in some sort of passageway!

For a moment I sat there stiffly, hardly daring to breath. I heard the girls pass by, and their voices were as clear as if I was standin' next to them.

I reached up and stretched my arms, finding the wall. It was pitch black and I smelled dust. I felt the darkness press in 'round me, and fought down immediate panic. After a moment, I stood and started walking down the passing, keepin' one hand one the wall.

More voices came through the wall, and a tiny pinprick of light pierced the dark passageway. Gingerly I walked up an' peered through the hole.

It was a fine room, no doubt! It looked like some sort of office, with two desks and chairs, but art hung on the walls, and thick carpets lined the floor.

With a start I realized that two men were entering the room, and I had to hold back a snort of laughter. One was tall and lanky, with sunken cheeks and thick black hair, while the other waddled beside him- and he was very short and fat, with a moustache that curled up at both ends and only a few greasy strands of hair that was combed over his head.

"Why, it's a disaster, Andre!" The short one wailed dramatically. "Have you heard his latest request?"

The lanky one- Andre- was holding the envelope that shadow had tossed to the stage earlier. He scanned it quickly and his face went white.

"Sack Monsieur Gabriel..." Monsieur's it has come to my attention that the chorus master would be far better off at home in his tub, the only difference being that he wouldn't be paid the salary which should go to me…"

The fat one gasped. "The absolute nerve of him!" he then glanced around the room and whispered up to Andre, so that I had to strain to hear… "Cela fantôme devient un problème…"

I almost screamed in frustration. FRENCH! I can't speak French! Why on Earth did I think this was a good idea?

The managers stopped talkin' and looked around in fear, their eyes swiveling to the place where I hid. My heart picked up. They couldn't know I was here…I hadn't made a sound…and then I realized my hand stung and it was resting against the wall.

I'd hit the wall.

Calling myself every foul name I knew, I fled down the passageway, doing my best to keep my steps light. Get out of the passageway! My mind screamed. Get back to the attic!

There was only one problem: I didn't know how to get out!

I ran my hands along the wall, up and down, desperately feeling for somethin'-a hitch, some pressure, anythin' that would help me out.

My panic rose with every passing minute.

I gave up and raced away, trying in vain to find something to hide in, trying to ignore my father's voice in my head: "Stop it! Runnin's the easiest way teh get caught. The ones that sprint for the 'safe house' or book a ship out- we get 'em, cause that's the first place we look. And panic! That's what always gets them!

"Get out of my head!" I hissed, skidding to a stop. "dúr ... cén fáth go bhfuil go bhfuil sé a bheith ceart?"

I sat down and put my head in my hands, slowly breathin in and out. Panic would get me nowhere.

I wandered through the passageways, looking for other peepholes. Sometimes I'd hear singing and laughter, but never could follow it in time.

After what felt like hours, I managed to find my way back to the original opening and squeezed out. I breathed a silent sigh of relief and looked around the hallway

It was completely empty and still. The moon rose steadily in the sky and cast a long white shadow down the hall. It should have been a comforting, peaceful scene, but I was on guard. There were dozens of shadows, and I was torn- to hide in them or avoid them?

I choose an alternative, stickin' to the wall but never venturing into the deepest of shadows. I slowly picked my way through the walls, feeling shivers go up my spine as the violins played an eerie tune….

Eee eee eee eeep….

Sharp little pitches that made my skin crawl, leading my imagination to picture hideous monsters that jumped out...the police force closing in..

I stopped and placed both hands on my head, applying pressure. It was a trick I'd taught myself to slow my heartbeat and focus. You're letting your fears take hold. You get ten seconds to calm down, then you have to move.

I counted slowly, picturing the numbers in my mind. 10 was large, but the numbers for smaller until 1, which was almost hard to see.

I opened my eyes and found that my heartbeat was normal. I rolled my neck an' headed in, trying to find my way back to my attic. I ended up outside the boxes facing the stage.

And then I heard the creak.

I froze mid step, trying to balance on one foot.

My eyes scanned every nook and cranny, holding my breath to hear anybody else breathing.

And at that moment I felt eyes on me. Without wasting any time I dove into the nearest box- box seven- and huddled below the railing.

For a second there's nothing there, but then a voice echoes around the auditorium, nearly scaring me out of my skin.

"WHO DARES TO INTRUDE MY OPERA HOUSE?"

I slap my hand against my mouth, holding in a terrified scream. The voice is filling every part of the auditorium, so it's impossible to pinpoint the source. It's a man's voice, thankfully (and oddly) speaking in English. I briefly consider answering in Irish, but I decide to just stay quiet.

I don't move or breath, desperate not to give myself away.

The voice doesn't seem to like this, 'cause it call out again.

"It would be in your best interests to answer." The voice is now moving around the room, as though he is speaking from everywhere at once.

Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, "Who wants to know?"

Suddenly the voice is right in front of my box. "I am the Opera Ghost, little sneak. And I don't take to kindly to intruders!"

I roll backwards out of the box, desperate to keep moving. "I'm not an intruder!" I yell, then bolt into another box. "Just passing through!" As if, I thought. I'm not going to let some ghost chase me out of a good hiding spot!

"Pass a little faster than!" The voice growls. "For the Opera Ghost-"

"You mean the Ghost who had everybody all worried today?" I ask, buying time to find another box. "Personally, I didn't see much threat in ye!"

"Much threat?" The man's voice lets out a dark laugh. "Then you clearly are out of your depth, mademoiselle, for I am the ruler of this Opera house, the Phantom of the Opera..."

"Fancy title." I can't help but jab. Then I realize I have to relocate yet again.

The voice takes on a new edge. "Let me be perfectly clear, mademoiselle. I give you 24 hours to leave my opera house. If I find you are still here, you will be violently removed. Did any of that make it through your foreign skull?"

Insulted by the foreign comment, I throw one more barb over my shoulder before running away. "Yea, I get it- that you're a controlling maniac. Good night, phantom!" I sing out in Irish.

Given by the deafening silence, my comment wasn't well received. I take it in stride and hide in the attic, waiting for my challenger to show himself.

Surprisingly, nothing happens all night. My suspicion is pretty high now.

What's he plannin'?

...

Erik's POV

I strode swiftly down the hidden passage, feeling annoyance run through my veins.

I had been up all night attempting to locate the intruder-the one who mouthed me off and acted surprised when I got angry. I was fairly certain she didn't belong to the opera. No new staff had been hired, and there hadn't been a changing of the cast in months. What was irritating was that I had no clue what she looked like. I could tell she was young from her voice, and foreign from her accent, but she had hidden herself cleverly-it was hard to keep trying to locate her. And what would I do when I caught her? Normally, I would simply kill her- but she was female, and only a child at that. Was I such a monster that I would kill a child?

Don't you mean, another child? My demons hissed. That settled it. I would try and get a look at this girl who dared invade the opera, and then I would decide her fate.

But I'd have to find her first!

I growled, stopping outside of the column leading into Box Five. I couldn't give up. It was simply…unnerving. There was somebody sneaking around who didn't belong, and it wasn't me.

I shake my head, clearing my mind. This was my empire, and I would not let myself be intimidated by some…

There were footsteps in the hall, cutting off my train of thought. I held absolutely still for two reasons. First, the steps sounded like the person was trying to make as little noise as possible.

Second, they were coming from inside the passageway.

She found this?

I felt her come closer, and I stood back, my yellow eyes scanning every part of the passage. Luckily, the passage was wide, and I waited until she was just a few steps away.

She halted suddenly and we both held our breath. I had my Punjab lasso ready, and we were both trying to detect each other.

Then everything happened at once.

She turned on her heel and fled, but I was quicker. I could see her shape in the darkness, saw the lasso find its target. With a yank, she was dragged backwards. I expected her to frantically claw at the lasso, but instead she turned towards me slightly with her hand up.

Wait, was she-

Wham! I had ducked enough so that her punch didn't land on my face, but it still caught my ear, causing it to ring for a moment. I laughed darkly, putting a rough hand over her mouth and my other arm about her middle. It was easy; I could tell she was several feet shorter than me. Then sharp pain stung my hand, causing me to jerk away.

She bit me!

"Is that how you want this to end, morveuk?" I hissed. Time to get a proper look at this little heathen, I thought. I kicked the secret door of the column open and shouldered my way through, trying to keep a hold on the brat, who was hissing and spinning around. The curious thing was that even though her mouth had been uncovered for a few moments, she hadn't started screaming. The whole time she had been completely silent. When the light hit my eyes, I looked down at the little vixen and almost dropped her in surprise.

I had noticed in the tunnel that she was small, but not this small. She seemed scarcely half my height, and was incredibly light. She had fiery red hair that was ragged and uneven, and angry green eyes that were glaring up at me. She was pale with little sticks for arms and legs, all of which were covered in little scars and scratches. Her face was thin and pointy, and skin hung from her hands. But the anger on her face (accompanied, I noticed, by a large black eye) made up for her delicate appearance.

"Faigh amach de dom!" She hissed in her language. She then clumsily switched to English, her accent even thicker than the night before. "I suppose you're the obnoxious-"

Her words are silenced as I wrap a gloved hand around her throat. Strangely, I don't see any of the usual fear in her eyes-only hatred.

"That's much better." I smirked. "Now, when are you leaving my opera before I must get violent?"

I lowered my hand slightly, just enough for her to speak.

She glowered and spat, "Not any time soon, sracadh"

I feel a course of anger run through me, and her air supply is cut off again.

"Think twice before you say such things to me, foolish girl." I hiss. "You have no idea what you're going up against."

"Likewise" she chokes.

I laugh and drop her. She falls into a clump, rubbing her throat and staring at me warily. "You really think I'm going to feel threatened by you? Look at you! A mere pipsqueak with a sharp tongue- and that does not mean you keen mind."

"And you think I'll just give in that easily?" The brat continued, fully recovered now.

"You do realize that if you stay, I will kill you?"

I threatened, trying to get through her thick skull.

She rolls her eyes and shrugs, as though death threats are just another casual remark. Her lack of fear throws me off. I have never encountered somebody who didn't show fear when meeting me.

I struggle to remain dominant. "And what are you called, brat?"

Her eyes darken. "Why, I'm Parnell. Such a surprise that we'd meet here."

Parnell? Who the devil was that? "Let me be clear, mademoiselle, that I do not wish to kill you, but the idea is becoming extremely tempting."

The brat lowers her eyes and looks around the box, as though hoping for some escape.

I wanted one, too. I had no desire to kill the little pest, but her attitude was slowly irritating me.

"So tell me, why ain't I dead right now?" she asked, running a hand through her hair.

"Aren't." I corrected instinctively.

She blinked. "What?"

"Why aren't you dead. Being a nuisance is no excuse for improper grammar."

She frowned, looking flustered. "All right, why aren't I dead right now?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but I detected a tremor in her voice. She was scared, and that meant she'd be easy prey.

I sighed dramatically. "Well, you looked like such fun, mademoiselle, but now you've become...weak. No longer amusing. And it was such a shame…" I drew my words out, slowly advancing towards her, "I haven't had amusement in years. Watching those two pitiful managers turn white is funny only so many times."

She snorts. "Oh, that can't be right. It can't get borin' to watch them turn those colors!" She puts a hand on her hip but the other- her right- swings lose, ready in case she needs it. Pathetic.

I glare down at her. "It's dull. Bad things happen when I get bored."

"Like terrorizing little girls in an old box?" She asks innocently, looking up at me.

I smile eerily and lean down, so that she backs away to avoid me. "Are you terrorized, mademoiselle?"

"What does that word mean, you leathcheann mearbhall?" She hisses.

My lips twitch in the ghost of a smile. "It is french for miss, a show of manners, which is far more courteous than whatever you said, I suspect." I straighten up and tilt my head disapprovingly.

Her face heats up, which confirms my suspicions. "Well than?" She challenges, her eyes flashing. "I'm not sayin' I want to die by the hands of a madman, but I also don't want to be toyed with...Monsoiur."

"Monsieur" I corrected through gritted teeth. "Your accent needs work."

She huffs and plops down in one of the chairs. "I don't plan on staying long enough to improve." Her fingers never stop moving, I notice- they're always tapping out some strange patterns, or drawing shapes on her legs.

"So your departure will be soon? Brilliant. I don't need a brat around here anyway." I add in french, just to irritate her.

She simply smirks and mumbles something to herself. "As na daoine go léir bhfostú suas…"

She then tips her head up to look at me. "And no, my departure will not be soon."

I blink. "I run this opera house, and I must see to it that the building's in it's finest condition. And that means no little runaways, no urchins."

"You've already got rooms full of the most ancient-lookin' people I've ever seen," she points out, "why can't they go?"

"They aren't hurting anybody." I shrug. The Elders have never left the opera since the days of their youth, and they never did truly get in my way.

"I'm not either!" She protested, sitting up and gripping the arms of the chair. "I'm trying to keep to myself, but you keep gettin' in the way!"

I grab the seats arms and lean in so close that she holds her breath and presses against the back of the seat, her eyes growing large. "Let me get something perfectly clear, mademoiselle, you are the one in my way. This is my opera house, my domain, and if I see you around here one more time, I will personally.." here I put my hand around her small throat to empathize the point. "Understood?"

The Girl looked up and me, fearful, then without warning kicked me.

In shock I let go of her throat and she pulled her legs up, jumping behind the seat and sprinting out the door. I straighten up and look around, not moving, trying to hear her. After a few tense moments, I hear a scraping and clink of crystals, and the light in the theaters...swings?

I rush to the edge of the box and look up just in time to see the girl's shoe disappear in the hole that the chandelier rope runs through.

The rafters! I realized with a start. The little brat is hiding in the rafters!

Ignoring my instinct to go tearing after her, I settled down into the same chair the girl had used.

I found myself slightly curious-about the nuisance and her situation, and her bizarre mix of courage and fear. Was it courage, or just plain stupidity? I asked myself, before dismissing the matter. I'd give the pest another day to get out of my opera, and then...then I wasn't entirely sure. The less I knew about my victims was generally better, and while I didn't know much about the brat, she had made an impression on me that many hadn't made in months of...knowing me.

Fear and intimidation didn't seem to get me very far. A new tactic was needed, but I'd let her worry and fret in her little hole. After all, I mused, she seems interesting again! This might be fun… and with that, I cast a final look to the rafters before descending back below.

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**And there you go. We have put the two together. Get the popcorn ready.**

**And for anybody confused by Allycat's review up top...a photographer over on DevianArt has some absolutely ****_stunning _****photos, and one model looks EXACTLY like Cass! Links are over on my profile, but you can also access them here:**

**Links are here: war art/000194530009-web-488318636**

**And another is here: war art/5D0A2746-web-487329054**

**Just remove spaces and you'll be set! (the spaces are between 'war' 'hammer' and the 'htt' 'p'**

**And again-any more photos of that particular model are also, in my mind, 'Cass.' Some posses are just phenomenal for her. **

**see you Monday! **

** -Aria **


	7. Chapter 7

**HI, guys! **

**Horseland123 gave _4 _amazing reviews. I'm so glad you like it! **

**Also, giving the setting of this story, I just wanna make sure all you guys are sending out your thoughts and prayers to Paris and all other victims of the violence that occurred on Friday the 13. **

* * *

CASS:

I woke up the next morning shut inside a trunk.

I had crouched in there the night before, after meeting that- that _monster, _I had thought- but after a few hours I had started drifting off. Fearing that was what he wanted, I fought to stay awake, but eventually my tremblin' legs fell out beneath me and I passed out. There's only so much excitement I can handle.

I stretched and headed to the window. The morning had dawned bright and clear, with a fine layer of fog reaching my window. The music was faint and sounded like little bells.

I kicked over a pile of boxes and winced at the noise it made. I need to fix this place up some...

What felt like an hour later, I had made some wild clutter was mostly gone, but it wasn't too organized- I might need a hiding spot, after all. It was still dusty, but I had hauled some of the biggest set pieces away but kept some small ones. An old desk got cleaned, and I was thrilled to find hundreds of supplies-like little brushes and paints, paper with these strange horizontal lines on them, (what for?), and even found a trapdoor. The trapdoor led to a small, cramped passage that opened up to a small staircase that seemed to lead back down to the lower levels.

Now I was hesitantly stepping down the stairs, trying to make my footfalls as light as possible. Thankfully, no voices came near my little spot, and I came out on the same floor as the grand staircase-the entrance hall.

_Here's the trick. _I thought. _Do you go shoplift from some stand outside, or take your chances in the kitchen? _

The sunlight was streaming through grand windows that lined the door, and I could see _hordes_ of people crowded outside. There seemed to hardly be breathin' room between the people, and I could already see other pickpockets stealthily moving among the throng, with far more experienced fingers than me.

I hopped down a staircase, where a sign with a fork 'n knife hung. I heard the sound of many, _many_ voices, and gingerly peered around a corner.

Long tables lined the hall, where what seemed like hundreds of people were crowded together, all chattin' and laughin' in French, eatin' breakfast. For a few moments I allowed myself to glare in envy. Little girls, some that looked to be my age and others that seemed to be full grown women sat together at a table, where the older ones made flirting faces at some young men with rough clothes on- I recognized 'em from the catwalks.

I pulled myself away and headed down a hall with no people, but I could hear the sound of pots and pans banging around, something sizzling, and most importantly, the _smell_. It was really something wonderful!

I stopped when I saw a long table that held basket after basket of food. Apples, meats, fruits, cheeses, oatmeal...my stomach made itself known with a sudden ache. I'd never seen this much food in my life!

Suspicious, I checked my surrounding. Nobody was near me, and I didn't hear anybody coming. _Fortune favors the bold..._

Some apples escaped my grasp, but I held onto the ones in my arms even tighter. I had a muffin clamped in my mouth, and little crackers were stuffed in my pockets. Trying to keep my footsteps light, I race back up to my attic, feelin' myself grow hungrier by the second.

Kicking the trapdoor open, I climb into the attic and spill my goods onto a blanket. I head to the window and whip it open, letting the music and the sounds of the city wash over me.

My view is pretty- I can see the people on the streets, tall buildings, and horse- drawn carriages parading around the front of the opera house. The people themselves do look like ants, though- little ants that could be squished.

With a shiver of horror, I remember my Da saying something like that. _Just 'ink of 'em as little ants...anybody who bothers you is a just an ant, if yous gets high enough. Then you can squish em..._

I slam the window shut, then eat my breakfast in silence.

...

When I reach the catwalk, the theater is completely empty and silent. I was debatin' even coming down here, but if I stay up in my little hole I'll go insane, I know I will. I'd hoped that the _company _would at least be doin' rehearsal or somethin'.

A shrill screeching sound starts down the hall, heading for the stage. A woman dressed in a large purple dress with yellow dots appeared, waving about a fan and screaming. But what got me was her _hair! _

"It looks like a peacock." I whispered to nobody. Because I was right.

The hair fanned out in every direction, and different colored streaks ran through it. And it was any color too- bright pink, orange, black, blue. Honestly, it made my eyes hurt.

"Madam Delvoi, please, we beg you! Forgive us for this terrible error!"

That was Firman, with a small line of sweat running down the side of his face. The other ones- Andre or somethin', right?- was following, but his mouth was closed tight with anger. I felt a surge of fear lookin' at him.

"Those little brats need to be put under lock and key! Every time I turn my back, another one of my things is taken or destroyed!"

Firman was still rambling on, but Andre was slowly clenching and unclenching his fists.

As the group moved to the other side, I heard a strange creakin'' from above. I glanced up to see the ropes of a hanging painting shaking slightly. I narrowed my eyes. All the crew members were still at breakfast, so who could be up here?

Before I could do anything, a rope to my left suddenly started running upwards, releasing something. The painting was failing a little now, heading straight for the managers.

Without thinking I sprinted forwards and grabbed at the rope. _They must use something to make it lighter, so that they can hold them, right? _

The momentum of the rope pulled me forward and I hit the railing of the catwalk. Holding back a string of curses, trying to ignore my throbbing side, I gritted my teeth and pulled the rope back.

It was lucky for me the piece was small. It just depicted a small field, and it was awkwardly swinging-still falling, but much slower.

Naturally, the lady on stage screamed and and ran out, with Firman following, mopping his brow. Andre looked straight up at the fallin' set piece.

"_Honestly?" _He yelled in English, then fear for the better of him again and he ran out after his partner.

I now had both my feet planted against the small railing as I tried to keep my grip on the rope. Should I just drop it? After all, nobody was here to get hit.

But then I looked again up as the wooden painting. If it fell, it would break, and I didn't want somebody to have to recreate it. Art should be safe once it had been created, shouldn't it?

As I was starting to get pulled forward again, I heard the soft _swish _of fabric, and I turned my head to see a black mask staring at me from the shadows.

_Of course. _I mentally groaned. _Who else would get a kick out of dropping things on people? _

The phantom stood with his arms crossed, staring at me and the rope. "Having some trouble?"

I heard the smirk in his voice and it almost eliminated my fear. He _could _just kick me off the catwalk right now, but I wouldn't let him laugh at me.

I kick the rope over to him. "I can tell you're pleased with yourself, but can you stop gloatin' and help me?" I made myself sound angry and annoyed, hoping to mask my fear.

The phantom stared down at the rope, but he made no move to pick it up. "And why should I do that, mademoiselle?"

I rolled my eyes. "There's nobody here to see it fall-"

"No thanks to you."

"-and now we'd just be wastin' a set piece. Doesn't seem like that's best for the opera, _hmm?" _

"You said we." He said, pokin' at the rope with his foot. "That _we'd _be wasting a set piece."

"That's because it's gettin' heavy and I'm _extremely _tempted to drop it! Physical strength is not my-" I let out a gasp as the rope finally slipped from my hand.

The painting resumed it's swift plummet, but suddenly there was a _crack_ sound, and the painting stopped for good.

I glanced over to see the phantom holdin' the rope easily, looping it around the railing. My cheeks flushed for a moment. _Why didn't I think of that? _

With swift movements, the phantom pulled the rope a few times and the painting was back in place.

_Show off. _I instantly thought, and was tempted to utter it aloud.

But then the silence pressed on and I realized we were both frozen, unsure of what to do next. I opened my mouth to make a sarcastic comment, but he beat me to it.

"Shame to know that your conscious is so great that you couldn't see these idiots being knocked out."

"My _conscience _just doesn't want anybody to die."

The phantom scoffed. "It would not have killed them, regrettably. Squish them for a moment, perhaps. Much like ants."

I shuddered at his unconscious reference to my father's mantra and shook my head to ignore it. "Well, I don't spend my time d-droppin' things others have worked hard on."

"No, but you do seem to be fine with damaging the chandelier every night." He snapped.

I felt my stomach drop. He knew where I was hidin'. So why was he messing with me? Why hasn't he turned me in?

I really didn't want to run, but my instincts had kicked in and I found myself _tryin' _to bolt in the opposite direction. But suddenly there was a rope around my ankle an' I fell, my chin slammin' into the metal catwalk. I swore and kicked the rope off, but the phantom's voice sounded in front of me.

"Quite pathetic, mademoiselle."

I stole backwards only to feel a hand clamp into my own boney shoulder. I let out a shriek that is instantly cut off by a gloved hand across my mouth.

_How is that possible? He was in front of me! What in Parnell's name is going on here? _

"Listen to me, mademoiselle." The phantom's voice was low and dangerous. I froze, and felt him kneel slightly to get a better grip. "I have been extremely patient. I understand that you are an escaped criminal, most likely from Ireland. How long do you think it will take for me to find out why you are wanted?"

I held still, not daring to say a word. My mouth had already gotten me into enough trouble.

The phantom gave a humorless chuckle. "Now you are quite and willing to listen, aren't you? I have a proposition for you."

Pure hatred came through me, but I used all my self control not to bite his hand again and tell him where to put his _proposition. _

"I will not reveal to you the proposal yet, but do know that it will involve dealing with several..._unsatisfactory _characters and commuting a few more crimes- no problem for a criminal like you, I presume. You have 24 hours to prove to me you can handle such things- I must know that you won't simply back out, that you won't cry and will take risked." Here he snickered.

"If you refuse to comply, I will hand you over to the managers. If you should flee, then our dealings together are finished."

He suddenly let go off me. "Remember your deadline, mademoiselle." And with that, he stalked off as dramatically as humanly possible.

I lay on the catwalks, feelin' the pressure of the new stakes. 24 hours. 24 hours to either get out of Paris (I had a suspicious feeling that he had 'unsatisfactory characters everywhere) or to give in.

I closed my eyes and mentally drew a 't' in my mind. On the left I put 'stay' and on the left I put 'go.'

If I get out, I won't have to deal with a crazy masked lunatic. I'll be able to start over again, and leave this place. I won't have to live in fear.

_Who are you kiddin'? _I thought. _You don't have any money, you're a 12 year old girl, and you're ALWAYS going to live in fear. You can't start over, not until you're better at this 'hiding' thing. _I scoffed at myself. _Are you really going to run with your tail between your legs? No way! Get him caught at something, then you can hide here for good. _

Because when it all came down to it, the opera house drew me in. I couldn't help it; I felt like I could..._learn _something here. I was determined to find out more about the music, the music that matched the notes I heard in my head.

_You're insane! _A voice screamed. _You're choosing the music and your pride over your safety? I can't believe- _

I silenced the voice and sat up, my mind spinning. How would I 'prove' myself to him?

_Unsatisfactory characters and crimes. Sounds like the ghost. Though I'd be a better one anytime... _And then an idea hit me.

_You want me to take risks, phantom? _I challenged, stalking down the catwalks. _Let's see who's the better phantom._

* * *

ERIK:

The girl was still laying on the catwalk as I stalked away, wiping my hands on my trousers. I was secretly thankful she hadn't bitten me again, my hand still stung from her last attack.

I had no doubt that she would be out of my opera house this time tomorrow. Of course, she would stay simply to get a rise out of me- she'll steal and insult me, but like always it will be nothing but words. There was no real threat of her staying- my lies about the 'proposal' had scared her off. What fun it was!

The brat would be of no use to me, coward that she was. There was no 'crimes' I'd ask her to commit. _What a fool she is for believing me! _

She'd be gone soon, and whatever happened to her beyond the realm of the opera would no longer be my concern.

I was, admittedly, curious as to what she was running from. It had to be something serious for her to flee all the way to France.

The only news I'd heard about Ireland was some small explosion, but it hadn't seemed interesting. Besides, there was no way the girl was capable of setting off an _explosion. _

I pushed the thought away. The less I knew, the better. She'd be gone, and my conscience would be satisfied. After all, it _didn't want anybody to die._

* * *

**FWI, the 'Parnell' that Cass keeps referencing is the leader of Ireland during this time period.**

**See you guys next Monday, where we find out what these two are up to! **

**-Aria **


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey guys! How have ****you all been? **

**Just wanna start this out by giving a long-overdue ENORMOUS shout out to Horseland123. Not only did she give an awesome review, but she actually drew an AMAZING picture of Cass! It's incredibly accurate and very, very well made. You'll all be seeing the image soon, but more on that later. **

**Horseland123: Amazing review, amazing picture. It made me so happy to see it. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. **

**Guest: I'm fine, thanks for your concern! I guess I do ghost on here a lot, but there's a bit change coming...**

**But let's see what Cass and Erik are getting up to, hmm? **

**PS: Scroll down to the bottom for some important NTF news! **

* * *

CASS:

Bein' a phantom is easier said than done.

I was standin' back in the secret passage, outside the manager's office. None of them were in there at the moment, and I had my eye pressed against the little hole trying to see around the room.

The phantom's demands were sitting on Firman's desk. It was useless to me- I couldn't hope to read French! His handwriting struck me as strange-even from here I could the cramped style, like a kid's.

My eyes suddenly locked on a cup. It was in a little case, and there were jewels and figures dancin' around the brim.

Why's they make a cup so fancy? I wondered, noticing the case's lock. It's a cup.

I stepped away from the wall, cockin' my head to try 'n hear if anybody was comin'. I knew it wouldn't really do me any good; I hadn't heard the ghost the other night.

Retracing my steps, I leave the passageway and hesitantly step down the hall, my mind still fixed on the gleaming cup. A flash of anger went through me. That cup could feed a family for….I couldn't even begin to think of how long. And for what? It was sitting locked in a glass case, where nobody could see it.

Now if I could get it, leaving the opera wouldn't be so hard after all...

I was so focused on my plan to steal the cup that I didn't notice I'd grabbed the wrong door.

Instead of my attic staircase, the door swung open to reveal a roomful of ballerinas.

At least, I thought they were ballerinas. They matched the ones I'd see get yelled at by the lady with the cane earlier in the day. They wore ridiculous purple skirts and tops, complete with a silvery tiara on top.

None of them so much as glanced over to me, but I froze in the doorway, my hand gripping the handle.

I held completely still, confident that the slightest movement would alert them to my presence. My heart thudded painfully in my chest.

Stupid, stupid! I screamed mentally. I held my breath and started to back out, keeping my eyes glued to the ground. Keep calm, keep calm…

"Toi, fille."

I froze. Please don't be talking to me, please…

A hand grasped my shoulder and I almost leapt out of my skin.

"Écoutes-tu?"

I swiveled my head to see a tall girl with the palest skin I've ever seen. She had a box of discarded tiaras in one hand and the other on my shoulder.

"Aller maintenant." she said, finally raising her eyes from her nails. Then she shoved the box into my arms. I stumbled from the impact and glanced down at the box in disbelief. She CANNOT be serious!

The girl says somethin' else, and all the ballerinas burst into laughter. I can feel my cheeks burnin' and it takes all my self-control to keep my mouth shut.

I keep my eyes down and head towards the door, but not before swiping a necklace by the door.

The door slams behind me an' I stand in the hall, holding a giant box of tiaras.

My shock wears off and I find a deserted room and lock the door. I start digging through the box, and find far more than crowns. There's ribbons, hair brushes, jewelry...I can practically feel the coins in my pocket!

I'm holding up a bracelet when I see a note crumpled up on the bottom of the box. Curious, I grab the note and smooth it out over my knee.

"Bonjour, mon amour…"

I blink hard, trying to clear the French from my eyesight. Just lookin' at it gives me a headache!

I can tell it's romantic, though- if the lipstick mark is any indication. I make a face automatically. It's so painfully obvious that you like 'em from the note, so why kiss it?

Suddenly I remember a small board sitting outside the dining hall. It has lots of scraps of paper on it. Maybe if she was so willing to make a statement…

After shoving a few jewels and ribbons into my pocket, I fold the note in between my fingers. Then I'm walking quickly through deserted halls.

Where is everybody?

As I reach the small board I hear my answer.

"Poooorrrtami viiiaaaa…"

Rehearsal! They've started!

A desire to abandon my plan and go listen passes through me, but I shake it off. There'll be nobody about, I thought, stickin' the note in the board. Even the ghost will be with the others, doing the same dull tricks as ever.

There!

I step back and admire my handiwork.

A rustle of footsteps sends me sprintin' from the hall again. When I turn the corner I pause, then hear a scream of laughter from where I came.

The person starts yelling to get friends, and more people gather near the note.

A perfect distraction, I think to myself.

I dart back to the manager's office, confident that nobody is there. Still, I hold my ear to the door for a moment before slowly swingin' it open.

The carpet is ridiculously soft and plush; I swear I can feel my feet sinkin' in to it! I eye the golden lock on the cup's case, then start pulling open drawers.

Notes, notes, notes...what's with all the black ribbon? I hold the stack of notes, curious, until my common sense gets the better of me. Nothin' of use to me here. I push them aside, along with pens, inkwells, letters, papers, papers….

"Where is the key?" I hiss, slamming the drawer shut and pulling open another. "I swear, I'm gonna-"

My voice cuts off in horror. Sitting innocently in the middle of the drawer is a small handgun.

For a full minute I sit there, completely frozen. I feel as if I so much as breath, it'll go off.

"Take a look at this, m'girl." My father pops into my memory. With exaggerated slowness, he pulls the gun from his belt. "This is what defines a man."

"What is it?" I hear my younger self asking, weary of the gleam in my father's eye.

"It's a gun, precious, a pretty li'le toy. I use it to catch the bad people." Here he had run his fingers over the barrel. I'd kept my distance.

"Don't you ever become the bad people, li'le gal. Or else…I'll come and get you."

I slammed the drawer shut, pressing my back up against it. My heart was beating wildly and I'd completely forgotten my plan to grab the cup.

Stay calm, I ordered myself. It's just a memory. It can't get you…

No, but the gun can, a darker part of me whispers. Do you think the phantom knows about it?

I push a chair in front of the door, tryin' to put out of my mind.

My hands are still shaky, but it only gets worse when I hear heavy footfalls.

And they're headin' straight for the office.

I have to bite my tongue to keep myself from screamin' every foul word I know.

Frantically, I look around for a place to hide. Chairs, desks...a closet!

Even though I know it's a dead end, I scramble for it and pull the door shut, leavin' a small crack. The light falls across my eye as I try to calm my breathing.

Andre comes in and lays his head on the desk. After a moment, he lets out a groan that almost scares me out of my skin. Then he starts mumblin' in French.

Even though I don't understand the words, I can tell he's under some stress.

Can you go have a crisis somewhere else? I thought angrily.

Andre rubs his eyes and starts filling out a piece of paper.

Oh, God, no. Please not here…

My legs started tingling and eventually lose feeling. My breathing has calmed down, but my heart is still slightly on edge. Clothes hangers other pointy things stab at me in the back.

Without warning, Andre's head shoots up. He looks this way and that, and I can see his muscles clenching. He's noticed something.

If possible, I hold even stiller. Please leave, please leave…

Then a voice echos through the room, scaring me and Andre out of our skins.

"Monsieur, your partner is currently trying to re-write the Classic Tosca. Kindly stop him before something goes wrong for the company."

Andre slams his hand down on the desk and swears loudly. His other hand grips his paper so hard it rips. Then he gets up and slams his chair into the desk, stalking away.

I don't move for a a few more moments, carefully listening. When I don't hear anything, I slowly let out the breath I was holding.

And that's the moment Andre rips open the closet.

I have no idea if he knew I was there or not, but at that moment he let out a large scream. I instantly dropped down and dove past him, scramblin' to get to my feet. Andre's too slow- by the time he gets to his senses and turns around to chase me, I'm long gone.

Ok, it's over now. Get out get out GET OUT!

My feet make light shushin' sounds as I race around the maze of hallways. Every corridor looks the same, and soon I have to stop and admit that I am utterly lost.

Screams are coming from below, but at this rate I couldn't care less. The phantom can have this madhouse!

I try a door only to find it bolted shut. Hissing in frustration, I try all the rest to the same result.

What's the point in havin' a door if you aren't going to use it?

ERIK:

Something was wrong.

The ballerinas' entrance was coming soon, but the rest of the cast was completely out of it. Firman had recently been butchering the score.

"It just...does not seem right to be go have the fermata there. The emotional climax of the scene doesn't come until later, and it's just sitting in the middle of the sentence. You are the maestro, of course, but I just was concerned…."

Didn't he know he was insulting a great composer? For shame!

When I alerted Andre to the disturbance, I noticed in passing that he seemed much more on edge than usual. It was beyond me, though.

I hung around for a moment, to make sure he obeyed my command. And, sulking like a toddler, he forcefully pushed his chair in, but paused when he reached the door. It almost seemed like he was waiting for something.

Then he began to slowly move towards a closet in the back of the room.

What on Earth is he doing?

And at that moment, I heard a soft sigh from inside the closet.

Andre whipped the doors open and let out a high-pitched scream. Then there was a flash of red hair diving for the door.

The Brat!

She stumbled over her own feet but pushed herself on, sprinting to the door and slamming it shut behind her.

Andre collapsed onto the floor, taking huge breaths. One hand was on his heart, and I left him as I heard screams from there foyer.

No doubt the Brat's gone there.

But when I arrived, there was no Irish girl to be found- only one of the head ballerinas sobbing in her friend's arms, with all the little girls hesitantly crowded around. Madam Giry was furiously glaring, and it seemed the rest of the opera house was there as well.

One of the girls moved away from the small board used for announcements. A note was pinned in the dead center.

Hello, my love.

The time is coming where I must see you again. I do not regret anything I've ever said to you, anything I've done. Please know that I accept the consequences of being with you, because I love you. Meet me outside the stables tonight.

All my love,

Carline

It was complete with a lipstick kiss, and it didn't take me long to realize what had transpired.

I'd seen Carline with one of the stagehands, a large, beefy man named Carlos. I'd complained several times to the managers, but they'd never acted against them. I'd even considered killing Carlos, but he didn't seem worth the trouble.

And here was a love note, placed for the whole opera to see. It was certainly the end of her career. But the question that everybody outside was asking was "Who did it?"

While Carline had many enemies, I somehow suspected the criminal. Just another way for her to make trouble.

Leaving Carline's tear-streaked face behind me, I swiftly made my way around the opera. I had one advantage over the brat-I'd locked the secret passages.

Good luck finding a place to hide now!

I was deep in the opera now, ears open to try and hear any panicked footfalls. Her weight would make that more difficult than usual-she had been very light- but in fear she'd no doubt make a nice path for me to follow.

The rattling of a locked door on my right alerted me to the girl's presence. I had climbed back up, but we were far from the stage-lost in the warren's den that was the backstage storage.

A quick glance outside the peep-hole confirmed my suspicions. The Brat was slamming herself against what seemed like every door in the hall.

"What on cré?" She hissed.

"Storage rooms are locked for this exact reason." I said, making my voice come from behind her.

She inched and, for a split second, glanced over her shoulder. Then she stared directly in front of her, gritting her teeth. So the ventriloquism isn't fooling her. Interesting.

"There's a man hunt going on, do you mind pointing it out, you lotnaidí?"

This was what I had been waiting for, but I hesitated. "Manhunt?"

She gestures wildly to the floors below. "Or whatever all that torann- noise- is!"

I scoffed. "That torann is Carline, the ballerina whose life you just ruined."

She was still looking at the wall in front of her, a look of comedic confusion on her face.

"Ballarin-oh, the note with the kiss?"

"Parlez-vous français?" I asked, wondering if the little I knew of her was true. Had she been stringing me along, pretending not to know French?

"Cad is brí le sin?" She fired back in her tongue. The harsh Irish grated against my ears. Thankfully, she switched back to English. "What's Carline got to do with this?"

"If you don't know French, then why did you put her note up?"

The girl yanked on another door to no avail. "Dunno. Wanted to cause a distraction."

She gave the door an angry kick. "What'd it say, anyway?"

I leaned against the passage wall. "She's been sleeping with one of the stage hands."

The briefest flash of confusion went across her face before her mouth opened in a little 'oh' and her face flushed. Her size suddenly reminded me of her likely young age.

She shook her head and rubbed a hand over her face. "This place is out of control." She mumbled, her voice muffled by her hand.

I moved moved to the next looking hole, closer to where she was. "I thought that this was what you were looking for in a hideaway." I snarled, feeling my pride for the opera house overcome me for a moment.

She looks up suddenly, her eyes narrowing. Then she moved forward with unexpected speed and slams her shoulder into the passage wall.

I was startled backwards, my own shoulder making a soft thump in the narrow passage.

I realized what had happened. In my anger, I had forgotten to move my voice. She knew where the passageway was!

Footsteps came thundering up the stairs, making the Brat freeze. A face of pure panic stared at the wall, as though she knew I could hear her.

"Come on!" She hissed, slapping the wall. "I'd rather deal with you than them!"

My heart stopped for a moment, then painfully thudded as my blood pressure rose. Since when were the peasants more frightening than their King?

I stayed silent. Let the Brat handle this one herself. I was glad to be rid of her, ignoring the heightened sense of interest towards the girl.

But as the precious seconds ticked by, with the person's footfalls masking my own, I heard a scream.

"The phantom! Le fantôme de l'Opéra!"

It was the brat! She'd learned their name for me! And now, in the worst French I'd ever heard, she was giving us both away!

More screams echoed the girl's as the person fled away from the scene. But for whatever reason, she kept going.

"Le fantôme de l'Opéra! Le fantôme de l'Opéra!"

Similar cries drowned out her own, and I finally yanked back the panel to grab her, intent on silencing her once and for all.

But she had disappeared.

A soft click alerted me to the closing of the passage, and a heard a snicker come from inside. Then all I could hear was the soft thumping of her shoes as she ran away.

I stood still, clenching and unclenching my fists. I was the Opera Ghost, the Angel of Death. I couldn't have been fooled by the oldest trick-

A ballerina rounded the hall, took one look at me, and fainted.

Rolling my eyes, I swept past her, stepping over her slight frame. At least she hadn't been able to scream.

Now where is she going?

I halted outside the nearest passage and pressed the button.

Nothing happened.

Of course. You locked it, you fool.

But I had the key, and knew where in the wallpaper the keyhole was hidden. I began a frantic pat down of the pockets of my cloak and trousers, finally finding it in the hidden pocket hear the hood of my cloak.

Let's try and not let that happen again. It's just what the little fool wants.

I slid into passage just as a herd of stagehands came around the bend. There were red in the face and their unofficial leader, Marquis, looked exhausted.

Remé, the manager's secretary, came bustling along. "Is he here?" He squeaked in that high-pitched voice of his. I noticed more than one of the boys roll their eyes at the fear in the man's voice.

Marquis stepped forward. "With all due respect, if you want to catch the man, call the police. He pulls this all the time, why should we waste rehearsal to chase a ghost?"

"Yeah, you'd think for a guy who wants 'the best for the opera' wouldn't take away our senior stagehand." One of the younger ones muttered, referencing Carlos.

I had half a mind to storm out and show him exactly what happened when one disrespected the opera ghost, but the other half was suddenly realizing the girl's plan. With causing as much mayhem as humanly possible, and with the hope that I'd be caught, she could slip out of the opera without being noticed.

But it was too risky. Why would she call attention to herself? Why would she lead everybody on a wild goose chase? Why would you cause a distraction…

And as the stagehands clopped their way back to the stage, the answer hit me.

She was going to steal something. But what? There couldn't be anything of real worth in the attic, and she's lead all the opera away….

...from the manager's office. She'd kept everybody away from the manager's office.

Walking quicker than ever, I made my way to the office. What is of value there? The painting? The cup? The tuxedo with the gems that Firman thinks is hidden in his closet?

There was no going back now. She'd either leave, or she'd be dead.

CASS:

I hate him! I hate him! I kept this mental mantra up as I sprinted through the passage. He's going to get in soon enough, so I have to be fast.

I practically fell into the manager's office, but somehow managed to shove one of the men's coats into the space so the door wouldn't close. Then I lay still and tilted my head a moment to try and hear of anybody was coming. But no, the screams were all still far away.

There was no time to look for the key, and I was desperately tryin' to push the thought of the manager's handgun out of my head.

Instead, I climbed the bookshelf, ignorin' the few books that I toppled over. After this, they're bound to know I'm in here.

Then I took a deep breath and shoved the case over, lettin' the glass smash on the floor.

The sound echoed through the hall, and I could already hear and confused noise that I didn't need French to understand.

"What was that?"

I kicked some of the shards of glass into the doorway, hopin' to slow 'em down. Then I reached down to grab the cup, but the weight caught me off guard.

What is it made of, pure gold? And it's such a small thing!

I heaved the cup into my pocket and sprinted away, knowing that this was the hard part.

C'mon, where are you-

Then I slammed into something hard and alive, my nose feeling the worst of it. I crumpled to the floor, hoping the cup didn't make too much noise in my pocket. But he wasted no time in grabbin' my shoulders and yankin' me up, pinnin' me against the wall, right into his masked face. For the first time, I noticed that his eyes seemed to glow with an unearthly yellow color, and was painfully aware of my legs dangling far, far from the ground.

Oh dear.

* * *

(Until I become fluent in French or Irish, I'm going to be using the knowledge of others and the Internet. Please forgive me. Here's what I meant, and what hopefully can be understood.)

Cass and the Ballerina:

_Toi, fille: **You, girl. **_

Écoutes-tu?** Are you listening? **

Aller maintenant: **Go now. **

Bonjour, mon amour: **Hello, my love **

Cass being a creeper:

Poooorrrtami viiiaaaa (Portami via): **Take me away.**

Cré: **Earth**

Cass and Erik Bickering:

_Torann: **Noise**_

Parlez-vous français?: **Do you speak French? **

Cad is brí le sin?: **What does that mean? **

lotnaidí: **Pest**

Le fantôme de l'Opéra: **Oh don't lie to me, you've worked this one out.**

* * *

**Now, onto exciting news!**

**So next week, on the 26th, it's my anniversary of Phantom! Yep, that day 2 years ago I fell in love with our favorite nose less creeper.**

**1\. I will be doing the Phantom 30-day challenge on my profile page.**

**2\. From Sunday the 24th-Saturday the 30th, there will be a 'Not to Follow' update EVERYDAY!**

**Yes. You heard me right. Everyday. All week. You won't be able to escape these two, I promise you that. **

**So I'll see you on SUNDAY, but feel free to head over to my profile for the daily challenge! **


	9. Chapter 9: Dealers in Paris

**Hey lovelies! **

**It's Phantom week, tomorrow actually being my two year anniversary. Very exciting. **

**Don't forget-the Phantom 30 day challange is on my profile every day! **

**Horseland123: Don't worry-there's lots I have planned for Cass and Erik, and your guess isn't too far off! **

**All right, enough chit-chat. Cass and Erik, what's goin' on? **

* * *

**CASS:**

For a long moment there was pure silence between the two of us. I knew my mouth had gotten me into enough trouble, but he wasn't in a hurry to speak either. I could sense his anger building, just as his grip of my shoulders increased.

"I had you down as a criminal, but petty theft isn't exactly what I'd had in mind." He growled, and I shuddered. His voice had gone much deeper, and I realized that most likely wasn't a good thing.

"Petty theft?" I asked, feeling my heartbeat in my throat. "I don't know-"

"Do not assume I am that stupid, girl." He hissed, and I almost swore from the pressure on my shoulders. There wasn't much muscle there, and he was starting to curl his nails into my thin skin.

"I realize you have taken an item from the manager's office that you think will aid you in your escape."

_Oh. He still thinks I'm leaving for good. I could use that. _

"But I'm leaving, aren't I?" I asked, perhaps a bit brightly.

"You cannot take from them-"

"I was pretty sure you hated them." I said. "Nice to know that they don't have to worry about their things being taken-_ouch!"_

His nails had to be drawing blood!

The pressure loosened for half a second, but before I could react, it was back. "I am in charge of this opera house, not them. You steal from the opera, you steal from me."

"It's a cup!" I cried out, exasperated. "One little cup! Is that really too much to ask?"

With a sudden movement he dropped me, but before I could even let out a proper insult, he had already taken the cup from my pocket.

"Give that back!" I yelled, forgetting the others in the opera. My eyes had adjusted to the dark, and I could see, dimly, the cup's shape.

He glanced at me, then held it up, high above his own head, let alone mine.

"_Aon. No." _I said forcefully, getting to me feet. "I'm not going to jump. I won't…" What was that word?

"Demean yourself?" He finished, and I could just _hear _the smirk in his voice. _Arrogant man! _

My eyes strayed to his bony knee cap, but I suspected the same trick wouldn't work twice.

I stiffly turned and walked away, trying to appear calm.

Sure enough, a chuckle came from behind me. "An interesting performance, but I see bad acting all the time. You can't expect that to fool me."

I whirled around and rushed at him, bending down before leaping into the air. I only got as high as maybe his chest, but I clawed fiercely at the shoulder.

"What are you-" he hadn't expected me to hang on. Forgetting the cup, he dropped it and tried to push me off him. "Get off me, or you'll feel the Punjab lasso around your neck, you _petite sotte!_"

Falling as soon as the cup did, I scooped it up and tried to run off, but only got a few paces before feeling a gloved hand gripping the back of my neck harder than I had ever felt in my life.

"Walk forward and keep your mouth shut if you value your life." He shoved me roughly forward, but didn't let up on his death grip.

"And if I don't?" I asked, curious to his reaction.

Swiftly my air was cut off. "Or else I just might lose my patience, Brat."

I held on for a few moments, pride drowning out logic and reason. Than, when I couldn't take it for another moment, I gave a tight nod.

As the pressure from my neck withdrew, I didn't have more than a moment before my right shoulder was trapped in that same crushing grip, shoving me forward yet again.

He increased his pace and I was stumbling along, real fear rising up inside me. He was completely capable of killing me, so what was he drawing it out for?

The music in the passage was just the plucking of violin strings, with sharp little pitches. It was, for the first time in my life, annoying. I had the overwhelming urge to tell it to shut up.

Then there was a bright light, and the sounds of the city drowned out the music. Then I was flying out the door, getting a face full of gravel and stones.

"Do not let me see you in this opera house again." Came the phantom's voice, and it was the last thing I heard before the slamming of the door, and the none-too-subtle _click _of a key.

I was locked out.

I lay there a moment, knowing I had to move, but breathed in and out. The music was utterly overwhelming. I'd only seen Paris at night before, and Dublin's music had never been like this.

I slowly I curled myself and shakily got to my feet before leaning all my weight against my hand, pressed against the alley wall.

I moved slowly toward the light, bracing myself for the noise to come. I stepped onto the busy sidewalk and it was like the whole orchestra of the opera was playing the loudest they could.

An instant rhythm was created by the horse's feet. _Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-two-three-four, clip-two-three-four-_

There was a _crack! _as the houseman cracked his whip into the air.

_Clip- two-three-four-crack! Two-three four-_

There was a rattle as a man pushed his cart down the street, his voice adding to the symphony.

"Anybody want a-" _crack! Two-three-four- "-_ap-ple?" _Three-four-_

Then there was the _swish_ of the ladies' skirts as they made their way down the lane, laughing musically. Their own boots added another beat that I had to follow to hear.

_CLIP-clip-clip-clip-clip-CLOP-clip-clip-clip-clip-CLIP- "-_how 'bout some pears?" _Crack!_

I had never been around so much noise, so much _music, _in my life. I wandered around in a daze for a few moments, oblivious to the stares of the passerbys. I closed my eyes, blocking out every other sense but sound.

The music grew louder and louder with every passing second, and I felt my hands lifting up, forgetting everything else.

Then I felt the cup get yanked out of my hand.

The music dulled as my eyes shot open. I whirled around to see a boy darting away, the gold cup gleaming in his hand.

I knew better to call attention to us, so I swore and darted after him.

The crowd refused to go faster, and I shoved and pushed my way through, getting shoved in return. A particularly heavy set man slammed me down with a look of utter disgust. I fought the overwhelming sense of claustrophobia and spotted the boy (man?) dart into an alley. Glad to be away from all the people, I bolted after him.

He head going to try and skid around a corner, but I was quicker. I leapt for his legs, knocking him off balance. The golden cup rolled out of his grasp as he fell the the ground. Then he reached down and grabbed a handful of my red hair, pulling hard.

"_Ach tú ag fanacht!_" I hissed, trying to get the cup. I slammed my foot into his stomach and scrambled to my feet, ignoring the stinging pain in my skull.

But fingers clamped over my ankle and I stumbled, kicking the boy in the face.

He raised his head slowly, blood trickling from his nose. "_Je vais te tuer."_ He said, and while I don't know any French, I could tell he was getting ready to most likely kill me.

He stood and I realized that he was a good foot taller than me. _Why can't I be a little taller?_

His fist came out of nowhere and slammed into my cheek. I feel over, seeing blurry shapes at the edge of my vision.

But it took more than that keep me down anymore.

I knew my fists wouldn't do much, but I raised a hand and raked my nails over his face. He howled and swung another clumsy punch, but I ducked it and slammed my shoulder into his stomach. When he toppled over, I picked my foot up and slammed my heel into his face.

"Leave me alone." I snarled, hoping he understood English. "If you want to make a deal, you'll have to control yourself."

He raised his bloody face and stared into my eyes. We both knew he could take me down in a moment, but I hoped I had him interested.

"Deal?" He asked dully. "For that dented cup?"

I scooped the cup up from where it had been discarded and swore when I saw that it did have a dent in the rim. "It'll still sell." I muttered, tryin' to convince myself more than him.

"Yeah, but now they'll know it was taken. And who's gonna buy it from you anyways, mademoiselle?"

I dig around in my pockets. Most of the jewelry have fallen out, but a few rings and bracelets remained.

"But I'm sure you could make do with it." I say, pullin' out a sparkly ring.

His eyes widen as he sits up. "There's a diamond if I've ever seen one." He wipes some dryin' blood off his cheek.

"Tell you what. I'll take you to a man I knows…"

"And be led into an ambush? Not a chance." I scoff. "I'll meet you here with your man."

"And have you been with a policeman? Not likely."

I roll my eyes and pull another necklace out of my back pocket. "And he'll believe me when I show up with these?"

"Fair point." He stood up and I tried not seem smaller. "And what do you want out of this deal?"

I thought hard. I wanted to get back inside the opera, but really should be ready in case I had to run.

"I'm sure you have something of value." I decide. "I trust you have enough sense to give me the ring's worth? And you should know, I've got items of lesser value if you try to dupe me."

He nods. "It's a bargain, little madam. I'll meet you here in half and hour." With that, he disappears down the alley.

I exhale slowly. I've seen deals take place back in Ireland, but never actually done one myself.

Now, what can I use as a weapon? Because I have doubt that the men (because there'll be more than one) will try to rob me. And then I need to lay low before I can get back inside the opera. It's almost a hopeless cause, but it's the best plan I've got.

What I hope is a half hour later, I'm crouched behind a heap of broken crates. My back is pressed up against the wall so I can't be hit from behind. A metal tube I found in a gutter is clutched in my hands. The music is still distractin', but I do my best to drown it out.

Grunts and low mutterings alert me to a group of men coming up the alley. I crane my neck to see around a box, feelin' an urge to hold my breath.

2 men come 'round the bend, a small satchel slung around the shoulder of the man I met before. His friend had the beginnings of a scratch beard, with a long mark running across one side of his face. Both men had holes in their clothes, and I could see they were just as alert as I was.

Sure, I don't know how dangerous either man was, but they didn't have anybody else with them. I gave it another minute before I stood up, casually sliding the pipe back to the dirty ground.

"I can see you deliver, gentleman." I say, nodding to the satchel. The younger man has an almost possessive grip on it, which only tightens as I eye it.

The older man turns to his friend in disgust. "_Ceci est l' affaire que vous me raconta__?_ _Une petite fille__?" _He asked, the distaste clear in his voice.

My thief glances briefly at me, before giving a muttered reply. "_Elle a quelques bijoux d'opéra__." _

Whatever he says does the trick. The older man gives the young man a sly grin before switching to English, a fake, board smile on his face. "Mademoiselle, I'm fascinated by your wares, and your method of obtaining-"

I cut him off. "I can see why that would appeal to you." I say, fixing him with a cool gaze. "But you know, secrets of the trade remain so." Then I give him a mocking smile.

His own broad grins fades at once, exactly as I'd hoped. He instead gives a curt nod. "Very well. Let's hope you've got some good stuff to show for the setup you've been given."

"Likewise." I say, eyes dartin' to my thief, who has the grace to look embarrassed.

The young man swings the satchel from his shoulder, but still holds it in his arms, an almost stubborn look on his face. "Lemme see the cup again."

My eyes not leaving either of theirs for a moment, I pull the golden cup slowly from my back pocket. The gold and jewels catch the light filtering into the alley, and all three of us go silent for a moment.

"_The Don Juan Triumphant cup." _The older man whispers. An almost fearful look enter his eyes. "Where did you get that, little madam?"

I keep my head down and stay silent. The spell of the cup is broken as my thief rattles the satchel.

"Well, we'll certainly take the cup." The older man mused, walking forwards, his hand outstretched.

I take a step back and hold the cup behind my back. "And my share?"

The man's eyes flash, and I think I've made a mistake. Then he closes his eyes and takes a breath, wigglin' his fingers.

_Try and keep your head down, Cass_, I mentally scold. _You can't die here. _

The younger man pulls his friend back and opens the bag. "You've got a few jewels too, correct?"

Prayin' they hadn't broken again, I pull a few rings and such from my back pocket. But as I lay them flat on my palm, I notice a strange crack along one bracelet. A sudden suspicion had my eyes frantically scannin' the rest of the jewels. The strange colorin' makes sense.

They aren't silver, or gold. They're fakes.

My breath catches and I hope no panic shows on my face. They could be sold as the real deal, as they all look incredibly realistic. If I just keep calm…

"All right, mademoiselle?"

I'm snapped out of my stupid by the older man's harsh tones. Swallowin' thickly, I re-adjust my grip on the cup. "These should suit your fancy." I say, trying to appeal casual and hopin' the apprehension I feel doesn't show.

The older man takes a long look at the gems in my hands, then snaps his fingers at my thief. The younger man darts forward and opens the bag, apparently decidin' I wasn't gonna take it.

_He'd be right, too. _

The young man pulls a few pieces of jewelry from his satchel. And they're real gems, too: deep green earrings, a purple ring. The worth almost makes my head spin.

Then he pulls out a final item, a small necklace. It's fairly simple-a deep black rose, surrounded by a black ribbon. But something about it sets alarm bells off in my head.

"Take your pick, mademoiselle. Two of these jewels for the cup and ring," here he gestured to the cracked one, "and we'll be on our way."

"Two? For the cup? Are they worth that much?" I scoff. They may have high value, but the cup is still superior.

"Ah, but these aren't just any jewels, little madam." He says, a rehearsed air coming to his voice. "These are the jewels of Carlotta Guidicelli and the diva Christine Daae!"

I frown. _Christine Daae_… Had I heard that name?

I suddenly notice a paper bag in the satchel. "What's in there?"

The young man glances at his friend and shrugs. "Just a few rolls."

'"Throw in that and we've got a deal."

"That's tomorrow's food!"

I pull out a heavy 'gold' choker.

We make the swap, with the older man seizing the jewels, and the younger man carefully placing the golden cup into his bag.

I put a roll in one pocket before tucking the ribbon necklace in my shirt pocket. I take one more bracelet, then meet the younger thief's eyes. He nods only once, and I turn away, takin' it as a dismissal.

"Wait a moment…"

The suspicious edge to the older man's voice made my blood freeze. I tensed all my muscles as I slowly turned my head.

The older man was holding 'gold' ring to the light. His eyes narrowed, then without warning he bit into it.

My eyes widened. What was he doing?

He held the bitten ring to his face, rage entering his black eyes. "This ain't gold!"

The younger man lunged towards me, but I ducked out of the way and sprinted out of the alley. Taking advantage of the crowd, I weaved in and out of the throng of bodies, listing to the shouts of frustration fade. Time to find a place to hide until nightfall.

_3 hours later…_

A group of ladies passed right by my hiding place, not guessing I was watching them. They looked only a few years older than me, and were clearly on edge about being out so late. As a cat crashed into a bin, causing one to shriek. Rolling my eyes, I tailed behind them.

There had been no sign of the two thieves, but I wasn't goin' to let my guard down now. I followed the girls until we came near the street where the opera lay waiting.

It might be suicide to go back inside, but it was even more so to stay on the streets. I'd never done it, and there was just something secure about the sturdy building of the opera.

Not to mention the magnetic pull of the music of heard-a pull that even overshadowed the threat of the Phantom.

The opera stood there in the dark, almost identical to the way I'd seen it for the first time. But now I knew what I'd find.

I crept hesitantly to the front doors, then froze when I noticed a large group of people in the front hall. _A party? _

Holding my breath, I made my my way to the side of the buildin', praying for another door. My eyes scanned the opera in the light of the dyin' sun. _I want to get in before dark! _

I suddenly noticed the sills of the widows, sticking out, almost leading to one open widow.

_No way am I getting in through that window, _I think. But the ledges might be a good idea…

Grateful I wasn't burdened with the cup anymore, I eyed a bin before taking a runnin' leap and jumping into the air, my fingers strainin' for the ledge.

And I miss.

Slamming into the ground, I give a hiss of pain. A pain in my leg demanded attention, and I grimaced when I noticed a small gash from God knows what.

Gingerly gettin' to my feet, I jump again.

4 jumps and 3 bruises later, half of my upper body is danglin' on a ledge.

Immediately my shoulders start shakin' from the activity. I'm thankin' God that I don't weigh too much, but I don't know how long I have before my arms give out.

Taking a deep breath, I inch my leg up the wall, tryin' not to think about slipping. My heel catches on the edge, and I send a brief prayer to whoever's listenin' before rolling onto the ledge.

For a moment, I just lay there, catching my breath. The ledge is narrow and I have the sudden image of somebody throwin' this window open.

_It'd be just my luck, too. _

Moving one hand as slowly as I can, I feel for a handle to get in. Nothing'.

_All right, Cass. Just try the next one. _

Sitting up as slowly as humanly possible, I lean all my weigh on the window behind me. Then I slide a hand up, feelin' for a handhold.

There's something there, but it ain't a ledge. It's something hard and round. I give it a sharp yank (almost sending myself to the ground in the process) to test its strength.

_Don't think about it, just do it._

_Now. _

_Alright...now._

_Come on! _

I grip the thing with both hands and swing myself out.

Instantly my legs start pumping, trying to find a foothold. A primal dread rises up as I see the next ledge, too far away to use my leg to help me up.

My foothold breaks and I let out a shriek before findin' another. I bite my lips, listing to the echo bounce around. _Stupid! _

I take one hand off the..._what is this, anyway?-_ and grip the ledge, pullin' myself up as best I can. The round thing become my foothold to push myself up the rest of the way.

Ignoring the burnin' in my muscles, and ignoring the far away ground even more, I keep going.

ERIK:

Quite the drama today!

Carline was 'dismissed', to everybody's surprise. Half the older ballerinas slept with stagehands, but now there was written evidence that could get in trouble hands of reporters- who were still trying to find evidence of _me, _for heaven's sake. The managers destroyed the note, as well as the young..._girl's_ dignity. Carlos, stone-faced, was merely stripped of his position as head stagehand, but still a part of the crew. He refused to see Carline, which made me reconsider keeping him alive. She's cried out for him, and he'd ignored her!

But the convict was what interested me. Truth be told, I was regretting acting so harshly. It would have been fun to break her down mentally, opposed to simply sending her away.

But I would get another chance...knowing the idiocy of the girl, there was a high chance she'd be back. But as the day wore on, I found myself almost disappointed. _Perhaps she's waiting for nightfall? _

_Get a hold of yourself, Erik, _I mentally scolded. _Scum have no place in the Opera Garnier._

I wandered the main halls-perhaps I could find Madam Giry-when a sound caught my attention.

_Thunk!_

I paused, listening for it. It had almost sounded like a stone being thrown against a window.

I could feel a small rage building up. There had been a group of young street rat who would often hit the opera with stones during their games. If it was them….

I stalked into the room where the noise had come from. All was normal: a few racks of clothes, a box of slippers, a foot dangling outside the window…

_What? _

I blinked hard, but it was still there: a small shoe frantically pressing against the window and surrounding wall. A cloud of dust came down, as did another shoe.

I hesitantly walked towards the window, unsure if I _wanted _to see what was happening.

But my suspicious were confirmed as soon as I caught a glimpse of red hair in the dying light.

It was the Brat.

_Unbelievable. _She's trying to _climb _the side of the opera! A hand comes down briefly before frantically grabbing at something else.

It didn't take much of my genius to realize she was going to fall.

_Why _couldn't I have come later? If the fool killed herself, it couldn't stain my conscious. But now that I was about to witness her death, she's dragged me into it.

_She's become quite the ennui. _

Ignoring the side of me whispering to let her fall, I swung the window open.

Her legs came flying in, no doubt surprised by the loss of footing. "_C__ad ar domhan?_" She hissed, and I could hear the strain in her voice. Then she tried to pull herself up, but my patience wore thin and I spoke up.

"If you are done wiggling like a confused worm-"

She gave a startled shout and, of all things, let go.

She fellow past me so fast, it took a moment for me to realize what had happened. But was no scream, just a _thunk! _

For a moment I stood frozen, unable to process the sudden turn of events. But then a stream of profanities reached my ear and I sighed in annoyance. So she couldn't be killed, either.

Wondering how she'd managed it, I took the last few steps towards the window and looked down.

About a foot and a half below me, the Irish girl was gripping the edge of a window, red faced. Her arms shook as she tried to pull herself up. "This hurts like-"

"What can you expect when you try to climb the side of an opera house?" I cut her off, feeling the wind push my cloak out the window, like wings."I thought my instructions were quite clear, mademoiselle. _Do not let me see you in this opera house again."_

She looks up quickly. "Well, I'm not in the opera house, am I? So as of now you can't -_cacamas!" _She bangs her knee against the wall in a rather useless attempt to get up.

"It might be easier to just let go...it's only a 30 _foot _drop." I say, amused.

Her face turns up as she hauls her upper body up, only to collapse again. "Hard to run on a broken leg." She rasps, and the exhaustion is clear in her eyes.

"However, I suspect you don't have any intention of running."

"Are you going to help me or not?"

I narrow my eyes behind my mask. "And why should I do that?"

She seems to slip for a second. "Because you don't want to be responsible for murder?"

I can't help it; I give a chuckle that causes her red face to whiten. "It would not be the first time, mademoiselle. And then you will be inside the opera, _gosse__. _I will be able to do with you as I please."

She looks down and her shaking shoulders stiffen for a moment. I'm waiting for her sharp reply, and am..._dissatisfied _when nothing comes.

Before I can change my mind, I reach down and grasp the back of her collar, as one would hold a cat. She's as light as she was in the hallway, and with one yank she comes flying into the opera.

I drop her as soon as I can, leaving her curled up, groaning. Something falls from her shirt pocket as she takes deep, heaving breaths.

Thinking it to be another trinket of the opera, I bend down and snatch it from underneath the exhausted girl. She makes a feeble snatch, but I straighter up and it's beyond her reach.

"You will have to work on your thieving skills, little-" my voice cuts out as I stare at the necklace. The black rose, with my signature black ribbon. I lick my lips and I flip the rose over, my yellow eyes scanning for the initial I dread.

There. _C._

_Christine._

* * *

**Hope you're a fast thinker, Cass.**

**Never forget my eternal shame of using Google Translate. Here's what they're all supposed to be saying: **

**French: **

_**Gosse:**_** Brat. You'll see this one A LOT, so correct me on that.**

**Petite sotte: fool **

**Je vais te tuer**: **I'm going to kill you**

**_Ceci est l' affaire que vous me raconta__?_ _Une petite fille__?: _This is the deal you told me about? A little girl? **

**_Elle a quelques bijoux d'opéra_**_._**: She has some opera jewels. **

_**Ennui:** _**Annoyance **

**Irish: **

_**Aon:**_** NO.**

**A****ch tú ag fanacht: ****Just you wait...**

**_C_**_**ad ar domhan:** _**What in the world? **

_**Cacamas**!: _**Crap! **

**See you guys soon! **

**-Aria **


	10. Chapter 10

**Not Monday, I know, but it's St. Patrick's Day! **

**So, to celebrate my personal favorite Irish girl, here's a chapter for you all! **

**Horseland123: Thanks! Christine's necklace has certainly thrown these two into a bit of a loop, huh? And one of the things I'm really trying to do with this story is make it new, like you said. I hope you like this chapter! **

* * *

Chapter 10

ERIK:

I grip the rose so hard I can feel the petals piecing my skin. It was one of the first necklaces I gave..._her_, shortly after she first left my house. I automatically block out the memories of her face when she discovered the rose, finally making the connection between the black ribbon on her neck and the black ribbon of the notes… I haven't seen it since the night she pledged her _love _to that...

The brat realized something more than petty theft has happened. She pushes herself up, rubbing her sore arms. Her stance subtly switches to defensive, and if I don't get ahold of myself, she just might need it.

I take the deepest breath I can, tucking the rose into my pocket. Her eyes dart all over the room, unconsciously raising an eyebrow at the 'slayed bull' prop.

I bring her attention back to my, making my voice as deadly as I can. "Where did you steal this?"

Her jaw tightens. "I didn't steal it, I got it fairly!"

I rush at her and grab her shoulder, bending her backwards out of the windows. Her eyes grow wide as the wind whips her curls around.

"I happen to know the owner of that necklace, and I _highly _doubt that she would give it to a street urchin as yourself!" _She wouldn't, would she? My Christine wouldn't just give my gift away…_

For once, the brat gives a straight answer. "I-I got it from another man." She stammered, her hands flailing at the window. "I made a trade for it and a few others."

"In exchange for what? The cup?"

"Well, that and some of the ballerina's jewelry."

For the first time, I notice a large bruise on the left side of her jaw. Frowning, I let go of one shoulder to turn her head, examining it. She winces, but doesn't try to hit me. "Fairly, you say? It looks as though you had a bit of a struggle."

Her eyes dart back and forth. "Well, that's kinda how it started, but we came to an agreement."

"Did they happen to mention where they got it?" When she hesitated, I shake her briefly. "Did they or didn't they?"

"They didn't! It was just in some bag they had!"

Disgusted, I pull back, the brat stumbling into the opera again. How had Christine's necklace gotten into the hands of some common thief? Had she been attacked?

_Christine never would give it away… _

The brat rubbed her arms, getting some dust and dirt off her sleeves. "I really don't know where it came from. I just thought it...was pretty."

_You thought you could sell it, you mean. Don't try and fool me. _

"What else have you got on you?" I ask suddenly. "More stolen property…"

She hesitated before pulling out an sapphire ring, a silver belt buckle, and a roll. "That's all."

The ring is unfamiliar, but the food confused me. "You traded the cup from the opera for a piece of _bread?"_

"No, the cup took care of the necklace." She says easily, and I have to remind myself to keep calm. "I just traded in the rest. They didn't have much."

"They won't have the rest, either." I mutter, thinking about how to track the two down.

"So, you knew a Christine Day?"

The name hits me hard and I struggle to breath for a moment. The rose burns in my pocket, then seems to gain weight.

"_Daae." _I correct. "She...was a singer here."

"What happened to her?"

"None of your business, _petit gosse._" Desperate to change the subject before I strangled her, I gestured to the open window. "Any reason why you choose tonight to become a circus monkey?"

She seems thrown at my change of subject, but lets the matter drop. "Circus monkey...oh you mean climbin' the opera? There was some kinda party in the front hall, so I had to find 'nother way in."

"Party? There was no party tonight."

"Well, it looked like it. Tons of people in fancy dress just millin' around-"

"Do you mean the _gala?" _

She blinks. "Gala? What's that?"

I roll my eyes, gesturing to the costumes. "This isn't just play-acting, my dear _gosse. _The gala is the performance displaying the talents of not only the opera, but several other outside musicians. Tonight was the the final gala of the summer. It was a fairly small crowd."

The convict's eyes widen. "If that a small crowd, what's a 'big crowd?'"

I smirk a moment, enjoying her ignorance. "Tomorrow night, most likely-"

"What's tomorrow night?" She cuts me in again.

I take a deep breath before responding. "The first show of the season. Shame you won't see it."

The defense are instantly back up again, her eyes wandering the room for a weapon. But then her eyes narrow and she crossed her arms, scowling at me. "Isn't this gettin' old? Why can't you just let me stay?"

"You're a nuisance." I rebuke, not liking the tone in her voice.

"You think that Andre and what's-his-name are nuisances. You don't make them leave."

"Not for a lack of trying." I growl, but the _gosse _is right. I can't keep throwing her out, and when it comes down to it, I realize I am not able to kill her.

Women and children-both are allowed to live. It seems not only rude but deeply immoral. True, I wanted to throw a lasso over the Kanums's throat every day, and Reza's death is on my hands….but that only seems to solidify the situation. I can't kill another child, not matter how irritating she is.

"So, they've got the real power here?"

Then again, there has to be some exception for _this! _

"I am the true ruler of this opera house. I simply find it easier to use them to manage the petty details of the opera." I say after a long pause. "It also slightly amuses me to see them fail each time. Perhaps one day they will learn."

She gives an almost inaudible snort, shaking her head at the floor.

Ignoring it, I given her a searching glance before making a decision.

"Do not sabotage any performances, or any of the actors, with perhaps the exception of Madam Dulvoi …"

Her head slowly raises and a gleam entered her eye.

Hastily, I add as much authority to my voice as possible. "Do not attempt to locate me, or 'inform' the managers about me. They know as much as you do, anyhow. If you stray from these guidelines, I will notify not only the managers, but the police, as to your description, age, nationality…"

"I get it." She said, a weary look in her gaze. She straightens up and her left hand twitches, the same one that's been trying to hit me for as long as I've know the girl.

Not entirely satisfied, I turn and leave the shaking Irish Girl behind me.

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CASS:

The moment he leaves, I down the wall, ignoring the hardness of the floor as I curl my legs in, takin' deep breaths. My arms still burn from my climbin' and my chest was starting to hurt from the painful _thump-thump _of my heart. My eyes are still trained to the door, not trustin' fate to leave me alone. I raise a shaking hand and check my pulse, a surreal feeling flooding through me at each rapid beat.

I should have died tonight. If not from fallin' to my death, then from the hands of the opera ghost. How was I supposed to know he knew the lady the rose belonged to? Who was she anyway? Some lady friend? (_Lady friend, Cass? Him?) _Mutterin', I curse my gut attraction to the necklace in the alleyway.

_Instincts are the smartest thing a man's got, _Father's voice whispered, and I shuddered, feelin' his breath on my ear. _It's the animal that's stayed alive, my girl. _I shake my head hard to get rid of the echo. _I'm gonna trust the right instincts, don't you worry. _

One hand still on my neck, I run my other hand through my curls, tryin' to get a hold of myself. The past few hours catch up to me and I almost groan from the sudden exhaustion I feel. I tug my ear and let of of my pulse, watching silently as the light retracts before dissapearin' altogether. As my eyes gradually adjust to the darkness, I grab the stolen items off the floor. Curling my knees into my chest, I eat the bread as slowly as I can, tryin' to pretend it's still warm from a bake.

The darkness pressed closer around me and I slowly push myself off the floor, running another hand through my hair, where it stops due to some snag.

I move as quietly as I can towards the door before leaning out and sweepin' my eyes over the hall. There are the distant sounds of people goin' to bed, callin' to each other in laughter. But nobody seems to be close to...wherever I am.

Fighting down the sudden panic, I keep one hand on the wall, moving through the cloud of déjà vu.

Two older girl come down the hall, with one holdin'' the other tightly. I swear under my breath and duck into a room, slidin'' a hand over my mouth. The smaller of the two is holdin' a letter, bitin' her lip. She mutters something and just when I think they'll pass me, the taller stops her and grabs her shoulders. She speaks quickly and sternly, almost shaking the smaller girl. Insterad of lookin' scared, the girl with the letter smiles before foldin' the letter and shovin' it deep into her pocket. She throws her shoulders back and nods to the taller girl, who gives a wide grin before linkin' arms and pullin' her down the hall, trouble forgotten.

I lean out of the room and stare after them, a wave of jealousy coursin' through me, not seeming to be able to forget the look on the girls' faces. I set my own shoulders back, pretending to have an audience. But instead of confidence, I just feel like an idiot.

_..the dorms, you fool, _common sense whispers in the back of my mind. _They were going downstairs, probably coming from the dorms...you know, where the staircase to the attic is? _

I let my shoulders fall into their usual slump and walk on.

Six wrong turns later, I've come back to my attic. Steppin' over a box of wigs, I fight with the small, rounded window's latch before it pops open with a sickening creak.

Holdin' my breath, I poke the window open wider, swearin' at every creak. When the wind slowly blows into the room., I pull a (_hopefully) _sturdy box and stand on the tips of my toes. Looking out over what little of the city I can see. The late summer air smells sweet and the wind carries the beat of the people below. Settling down, I push the thought of the phantom out of my mind and try to fall asleep, listening to the sound of the stars.

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ERIK

Tonight marks the beginning of the opera's new season. _L'incoronazione di Poppea _seemed an interesting choice, but not completely unacceptable.

For once, there is no battle with the managers over Box 5. Perhaps they're learning at last- extra stress wouldn't benefit them on such a momentous night.

I make the usual during the first act, watching the bustle backstage. I could walk among them as I am and not be noticed, so high is the tension. Performers hardly notice each other, let alone a ghost slipping among them, ensuring the show's success.

Halfway through the first act, I make my way to Box 5, giving my usual tap for Madam Giry. Like clockwork, she opens the door and hands me my program.

I added the ballet mistress's attitude before speaking. "The ballet not doing as well as you'd hoped?"

The fingers holding her cane tightened to the point where I could almost see the brittle bones poking through.

"It is ridiculous. What have you done to them, Erik?"

I narrow my eyes at her accusing tone. "What are you implying, Madam?"

"You know full well." Madam Giry hissed, leaning in, the feathers on her hat wobbling perilously. "Meg tells me that you've started some rumor about one of them being singled out for the ghost's next 'misfortune.'"

I send of a flurry of metal curses towards Mademoiselle Giry. That rumor was entirely _her _doing. I could practically see the smirk on her face.

"My apologies, Madam. I can assure you that this was not..._my _intent." I say, lying through my teeth. "Perhaps you'd better go reassure the brats?"

Fixing me with a glare that wiped my own smirk off my face, Madam Giry gathered up her dusty black skirts and swept out.

Letting out a sigh of relief as I heard her footsteps fade, I made my way over to my seat and sat down, looking out at the stage. The music came out at the audience in great waves. The audience's energy was affecting the company, their voices soaring around the opera to the point where the gods above and the demons below could hear them.

As I watched some of the more elite members of the crowd-preferably, the old gentleman who had fallen asleep upon his younger companion, who was doing his best to hold still,-I glanced up at the railing near the ceiling to see a small, red-headed figure perched on the edge. Narrowing my eyes as the stage lit up, I saw the young convict swinging her legs with her forehead pressed against the railing. Her eyes were wide and glued to the stage, but there was a certain vagueness about her expression as well. When the song ended and the audience gave their usual thunderous applause, she jerked back as through woken from a daze.

An idea formed in the back of my mind, but I pushed it away and returned my attentions to the stage. Throughout the rest of the act, however, I kept glancing up towards the girl.

Just before intermission, I slipped out of my box as per usual, in order to avoid the herds that would soon surround my box. But instead of turning towards Madame Giry's self-declared office, I felt the itch of an idea again and found my feet walking towards the rafters.

I closed the door leading to the metal walkway as softly as I could, though the girl was so far into her daze, I'd doubt she'd hear anything. As the act ended, and the crowds made their usual rush to greet each other, I moved up silently behind the girl, hesitating only a moment before speaking.

"The view doesn't seem to be the best from here."

As I'd expected, she started and scrambled to face me. As I took in the sight of her, I tried to hold back a smirk at the sight of the indent the railing had made on her forehead. She clears her throat.

"Well, I guess it isn't the greatest, but…" She trailed off and gripped the railing with both hands, not turning her back to me. "Are you watching the show?"

"Of course. I have to make sure my opera house is being presented in the best light."

She blinks, then risks a glance back to the stage. "What's the show, anyway?"

"_L'incoronazione di Poppea."_

"Bless you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"What's a...Len Cora de poppa?"

"_L'incoronazione di Poppea." _I correct through gritted teeth. "It is an Italian opera-"

"So _that's _what language it is! I thought it sounded different that French!"

If I didn't wear a mask, I'd be rubbing my face in frustration. "Do you know _anything _that is happening?"

Her shoulders fall and she loses eye contact. "Well...not exactly. But…that one lady, the lead, she seems to want...power? And she seems to have a man chasing her...and didn't somebody's beard get set on fire?"

"That's fairly close." I say, feeling the childish urge to roll my eyes at her memory. "The lead is Poppaea, mistress of Neo, a roman emperor. This is the tale of how she rose to power and became empress." Looking around, I notice that the crowd was beginning to seat themselves again.

The girl noticed as well, squinting to see the stage. "What happens next?"

I raise my eyebrow. "You do not expect me to tell you the rest of the story, do you? That's what this is about, you realize-the telling of the story."

"It's not like I can understand it anyway." She mumbles. "If it was in Irish or English, I might be all right. But Italian and French? It gives me a headache!"

I study the girl in front of me as she glances at the stage, with the house lights dimming once again. She sneaks a look to me when she thinks I'm not looking, and I fold my hands behind my back, facing the stage.

Madam Dulvoi sweeps on stage, taking a deep breath and delivering a high pitched scream. For a moment I think we've been spotted, even through the stage lights, but then she continues to screech as the music picks up.

I turn to the best, expecting her to be lost again, but her face is screwed up and a look of horror is on her face. "It's _her_ again!" She hisses. "What is she _doin'?" _

I find an audience member below, smiling like all the rest. Only the girl seems to hear the imperfection. In that moment, my mind is made up.

"Perhaps this would be better explained below. You may be content with a walkway, but I have certain standards to hold myself to." I walk away, barely six steps away before her next question comes flying at me.

"What do you mean, standards? You didn't pay for a seat, did you?"

I chucked at that. "A seat, Mademoiselle? I have my own private box. And it is mine for free."

I leave the door open, hearing her hesitant footsteps coming after me.

"Did you make the managers do that for you?" She asks as I descend the staircase leading to the grand tier.

"A small price to pay for peace of mind, is it not?"

"Yeah, I'll bet they're real peaceful." She mumbles.

I ignore her and push open my box, settling down in my chair. The girl has frozen at the door, hesitant to make a move.

"Do you understand what is happening currently?" I ask, not turning in her direction.

In order to see the stage, I hear her take she few steps forward onto the carpet, walking on the tips of her toes. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her peer around the edge of the box towards the stage.

"Well...it seems to me like that one lady with the funny hair-"

I hold out the program. "Ottavia. The current empress. Care to take a guess who she's played by?"

She reaches out hesitantly before glancing at the page and shaking her head. "It's in French. There's no chance of me readin' _that_."

I sign. "The woman with the 'funny hair' is none other than Madame Dulvoi, our current residing diva."

The girl steal a quick glance. "'Current?'"

"She's not the first, and not the last." I lean forward, fixing my eyes on the madame's blond wig. "Curiously enough, that's not her true voice."

"What?"

I speak in a lower voice, smirking when the girl is forced to come a little closer. "Madam Dulvoi is a Danish singer, with an acceptable 'normal' voice. However, Gabriel-"

"That's that man who came late to rehearsal 'cause he was in the bath!"

"-the very same. Now, he decided that the Madam's voice wasn't quite the fit for opera, but due to her coming from a rather influential family, he decided to 'fix' her."

"Do you think she should sing like she's supposed to?"

I snort. "None of the the company _ever _sings like they're 'supposed to.' But I take your meaning." I pause as she slowly lowers herself into a seat near mine. "I do believe that it would be better for all if she sang in her natural tones."

The girl lets out a snort of her own, poking at the plush seat covering. "Well, just send a threatenin' letter to the managers and it's all taken care of."

"If only it was that-" I'm cut off by a renewed scream. The girl puts her hands over her ears and shuts her eyes.

The sight would be amusing if I wasn't in pain as well.

When she lowers her hands, I notice how she sits-perched at the very edge of the seat, trying to touch as little fabric as possible.

"Is there something the matter with the seat, _mademoiselle?" _

Her head whips around, and for the first time I see her blush. "No. It's fine, just...a little _too_ comfortable."

I smirk and tuck that information away before turning back to the show.

Aside from Madam Dulvoi's usual disaster, _L'incoronazione di Poppea _seemed to flow well-for an opening night, that is.

I expected the girl to continue to make small talk, but she was drawn right back into the music she heard. I spoke again several times and it was clear it fell upon deaf ears. When the curtain finally fell, only the roars of the audience snapped the girl from her trance.

By then, I had retreated to the column and watched with renewed amusement as the vagueness disappeared from her gaze, her body rapidly jerking as though to make up for the 2 hours of stillness. She ran a hand through her curls and crouched down by the door, waiting until the majority of people had left to quietly slip out and back to the rafters.

When I was certain she was gone, I made my way to the chair that she'd sat in, running a hand over the top. Over the course of the show she'd forgotten her discomfort of the seat and curled in, not at all the proper etiquette, but forgivable all the same.

As I slowly wandered back below, the silence broken only by the sound of Madame Giry scolding the ballerinas, I thought about the girl's mannerisms. The look of wonder on her face wouldn't leave me be. Shouldn't a street urchin such as herself find an opera, in a language unfamiliar to her as well, dull and uninteresting? That was how the majority of society that came to see our performances felt. They came to be seen, to socialize, not to hear the music and genius around them.

The beginning of a composition came to me in a rush, but I pushed it away. I couldn't compose, not now. I sat down in my armchair and stared into the fire, trying to remember the power I'd felt when I'd scared her last night, before taking Christine's rose from my breast pocket and running my fingers over it for the thousandth time.


End file.
